University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


PA 


THE  AUTHOR  AS  HE  APPEARED  AFTER  THE 
COEUR  D'ALENE  RIOTS. 


A  True    Story    of   Twenty-Two  Years  with  a 
World-Famous   Detective    Agency 


Giving  the   Inside   Facts  of  the  Bloody  Coeur 

d'Alene  Labor   Riots,  and  the  many  Ups 

and  Downs  of  the  Author  throughout 

the  United  States,  Alaska,  British 

Columbia   and   Old   Mexico 

Also  Exciting  Scenes  among  the  Moonshiners 
of  Kentucky  and  Virginia 

By  CHAS.  A.  SIRINGO 

Author  of  "A  Texas  Cowboy" 


CHICAGO 
W.  B.  CONKEY  COMPANY 

1912 


COPYRIGHT,  1912 

BY 
CHAS.  A.  SIRINGO 


OLD  COLT'S  45  AND  THE  HAND  THAT  HAS 
KEPT  HER  UNDER  CONTROL. 


TO  MY  FRIEND 
ALOIS  B.  RENEHAN 

OF  SANTA  FE,  NEW  MEXICO 

An  eminent  lawyer,  advocate  and  writer, 

as  a  token  of  appreciation  of  many 

kindnesses  done,  this  book 

is  dedicated. 


PREFACE 

This  story  of  twenty  years  of  active  service  as  a  detect 
ive,  an  autobiography  of  many  thrilling  adventures,  on 
mountain  and  plain,  among  moonshiners,  cattle  thieves, 
tramps,  dynamiters  and  other  strong-arm  men,  has  been 
delayed  for  a  long  time  in  coming  from  the  press.  The 
delay  was  due  to  the  protests  of  the  author's  former  em 
ployers.  These  protests  were  undoubtedly  rightful,  but  it 
was  considered  in  the  beginning  that  no  harm  could  come 
therefrom,  for  the  reason  that  the  identity  of  persons  in 
volved  was  not  disclosed  except  in  reference  to  past 
facts,  matters  that  were  done  and  over  with.  Now  this 
difficulty  has  been  overcome  and  the  objections  removed 
by  the  use  of  fictitious  names  in  many  places.  But  the 
story  in  no  wise  loses  its  interest,  and  it  is  believed  the 
reader  will  find  in  the  volume  much  with  which  to  enter 
tain  himself. 

The  author  is  not  a  literary  man,  but  has  written  as  he 
speaks,  and  it  is  thought  that  the  simplicity  thus  resulting 
will  not  detract  from  the  substantial  merit  of  the  tales, 
which  are  recitals  of  facts  and  not  of  fiction. 

CHARLES  A.  SIRINGO. 
Santa  Fe,  New  Mexico,  January  6,  1912. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I  PAGE 

The  Anarchist  Riot  in  Chicago — My  First  Work  for  the 
Dickenson  Agency— In  Jail  for  Slugging  a  Slugger 11 

CHAPTER  II 

Archuleta  County  Uprising — Rope  Secured  to  Hang  Me — 
Running  Down  a  Wells-Fargo  Robber  in  Old  Mexico— 
We  Capture  the  Noted  Bassick  Mine 25 

CHAPTER  III 

To  White  River  as  an  Outlaw — The  Ute  Indian  War — Riding 
and  Roping  Under  Name  of  "Dull  Knife"  at  Denver 
Cowboy  Tournament — Off  for  Wyoming  as  an  Outlaw..  44 

CHAPTER  IV 

In  Jail  With  Denver  &  Rio  Grande  Hold-Ups — Aspen  Ore- 
Stealing  Case — Testing  Railroad  Conductors — The  Mud 
sill  Mine-Salting  Case — In  Longmont  as  a  Bronco- 
Buster— In  the  Bull-Pen  with  Hobos 66 

CHAPTER  V 

Two  Wealthy  Mine-Owners  of  Tuscarora,  Nevada,  Blown 
up  with  Dynamite — A  Confession  Secured  After  Nine 
Months  of  Strenuous  Life  in  Nevada  and  Indian  Terri 
tory  91 

CHAPTER  VI 

Shooting  of  Ancheta — I  Join  the  "White  Caps"  of  New 
Mexico — Taken  Down  with  Smallpox  and  Given  up  to 
Die 114 

CHAPTER  VII 

The  Bloody  Coeur  D'Alene  Strike — I  Become  Recording 
Secretary  of  the  Union — During  the  Riot  I  Sawed  a 
Hole  in  the  Floor  to  Escape  From  Blood-Thirsty  Dyna 
miters  ...  135 


8  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  VIII  PAGE 

United  States  Troops  Fill  the  "Bull-Pen"  with  Miners' 
Union  Dynamiters — My  Evidence  Convicts  Eighteen  of 
the  Union  Leaders 172 

CHAPTER  IX 

In  Jail  with  Two  Murderers — Testing  Railway  Conductors — 
Tramping  as  a  Hobo  Through  Colorado,  New  Mexico, 
Arizona,  California  and  Texas — Robbery  of  the  Tread- 
well  Gold  Mill  in  Alaska — We  Capture  the  Thieves  and 
Recover  the  Gold 192 

CHAPTER  X 

Chasing  Leon  Carrier  Through  the  Republic  of  Mexico — 
Running  Down  "Bad"  Men  in  Arizona — Big  Ore  Robbery 
on  Bull  Hill — Golden  Fleece  Ore-Stealing  Case — Hobo 
Operation — Big  Mining  Suit  in  Arizona — Running  Down 
Banker's  Son  in  British  Columbia 229 

CHAPTER  XI 

Bill  Blank  Cattle-Stealing  Case — Christmas  Dinner  and  a 
Dance  on  the  L  X  Cattle  Ranch  in  Texas — Left  Afoot 
on  a  New  Mexico  Desert  Without  Water 247 

CHAPTER  XII 

Jersey  Lilie  and  Butterfly  Mine-Salting  Cases — Tramping  on 
the  Oregon  Short  Line  Railway  Company's  System — A 
Big  Ore- Stealing  Case  in  Salt  Lake  City,  Utah — Trip  to 
British  Columbia — Playing  Outlaw  in  Cripple  Creek, 
Colorado 268 

CHAPTER  XIII 

A  Lawsuit  in  Bent  County,  Colorado — A  Big  Murder  Case 
in  Benkelman,  Nebraska — Ernest  Bush  Sent  to  the  Peni 
tentiary  for  Life 288 

CHAPTER  XIV 

On  Trail  of  Union  Pacific  Train  Robbers  Through  Utah, 
Colorado,  New  Mexico,  Kansas,  Indian  Territory, 
Arkansas,  Tennessee,  Mississippi,  Montana  and  the  Re 
public  of  Mexico 305 


CONTENTS  9 

CHAPTER  XV  PAGE 

A  1,000-Mile  Horseback  Ride  from  Grand  Junction,  Colo., 
to  Alma,  New  Mexico — In  with  "Kid"  Curry's  "Wild 
Bunch"  Crowd,  in  Colorado,  Utah,  Arizona,  New  Mexico 
and  Wyoming  339 

CHAPTER  XVI 

A  Big  Railroad  Stealing  Case  in  Texas  and  Old  Mexico— A 
Bullion  Stealing  Operation  in  Salt  Lake,  Utah 381 

CHAPTER  XVII 

A  Mining  Case  in  Alma,  Colorado— A  Prospecting  Trip  with 
a  Half-Breed  Mexican — Taking  Prisoner  to  Kansas  City, 
Missouri — Working  on  United  States  Senator  Smoot...  387 

CHAPTER  XVIII 

The  Wentz  Kidnapping  Case — Eight  Months  Among  the 
Moonshiners  of  Kentucky  and  Virginia 395 

CHAPTER  XIX 

A  Hurrah  Life  Among  the  "Moonshiners" — I  Escape  Pos 
sible  Death  by  a  Scratch — The  Body  of  Ed.  Wentz 
Found 418 

CHAPTER  XX 

A  Mining  Case  in  Kelly,  N.  M. — Big  Robbery  in  Prescott, 
A.  T. — Incendiary  Case  in  Wyoming — Mrs.  Shaw  Kid 
napping  Case  in  Pueblo,  Colo. — Chase  After  "Bad"  Man 
in  Sonora,  Mexico- — Cattle  Case  in  Wyoming  and  Mon 
tana — "Frenzied  Finance"  Operation  in  Roswell,  N.  M..  454 

CHAPTER  XXI 

A  Cowboy  Operation  in  Eastern  Oregon — A  Trip  to  Som- 
brerete,  Old  Mexico — A  Visit  to  the  Coeur  D'Alenes  with 
James  McParland — Laying  for  Train  Holdups  in  Ne 
braska — An  Operation  in  Mexico  City 486 

CHAPTER  XXII 

In  Idaho  with  Dynamiters — A  Cowboy  Operation  in  the  Bad 
Lands  of  South  Dakota — I  Resign  from  the  Dickenson 
Agency 511 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACE 

Old   Colt's  45   and  the   Hand  that  Has   Kept  Her  Under 

Control  3 

The  Author  as  He  Appeared  After  the  Coeur  D'Alene  Riots. .       2 

The  Kidlet  Author  After  He  Became  a  Cowboy 11 

Henry  Brown — Ben  Wheeler 14 

Mamie  and  Viola 80 

Pablo  H.  Standing— His  Two  Brothers  Sitting 118 

Tim  Corn  234 

Bigfoot  Wallace  262 

The  Author  and  W.  O.  Sayles 310 

Little  Harvey  T.  and  His  Dog 330 

Author  and  Two  Horses 349 

"Kid"  Curry  and  His  Sweetheart 370 

"Doc"  Lockredge  and  the  Author 387 

Emma  S.,  "Donk"  and  the  Author 407 

Victoria  Craft 413 

The  Author  as  He  Appeared  When  He  Whittled  the  Chair. .  428 

Eat  'Em  Up   Jake 464 

Wallace,  Idaho.    The  X  Marks  the  Spot  Where  the  Author 

Stood  When  the  Soldiers  Arrived 501 

Orchard  and  Guards — Reading  from  Left  to  Right:  (1)  Pen 
Guard  Ackley.  (2)  Harry  Orchard.  (3)  R.  Barthell. 
(4)  Chas.  A.  Siringo.  (5)  Bob  Meldrum.  (6)  Warden 

Whitney 511 

McCartney  and  the  Author 514 


10 


THE  KIDLET  AUTHOR  AFTER  HE  BE 
CAME  A  COWBOY. 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 


CHAPTER  I 
THE  ANARCHIST  RIOT  IN  CHICAGO — MY  FIRST  WORK 

FOR  THE  DlCKENSON  AGENCY IN  JAIL  FOR 

SLUGGING  A  SLUGGER. 

The  writer  was  born  in  Matagorda  county,  Texas,  in 
the  extreme  southern  part  of  the  State,  in  1855,  and  was 
reared  on  the  upper  deck  of  all  kinds  and  conditions  of 
cow-ponies  scattered  throughout  the  Lone  Star  State, 
Kansas,  Indian  Territory  and  New  Mexico.  I  spent  fifteen 
years  continuously  in  the  saddle,  seldom  ever  sleeping  in 
a  house  or  a  tent.  In  these  early  days  of  the  cattle  busi 
ness  when  the  southern  half  of  Texas  was  overrun  with 
wild,  long-horned  cattle,  the  cowboys  used  the  ground 
for  a  bed  and  the  sky  for  covering. 

I  first  started  out  as  a  full-fledged  cowboy  in  1867  when 
only  eleven  years  of  age.  Of  course,  I  naturally  became 
an  expert  at  riding  "bad"  horses  and  roping  wild  cat 
tle.  Besides,  this  strenuous,  open-air  life  gave  me  health 
and  a  longing  to  see  the  world  and  to  learn  the  ins  and 
outs  of  human  nature. 

The  chance  came  when  the  spring  of  1886  found  me  in 
Chicago  with  a  pretty  young  wife  and  a  sweet  little  girl 
baby  on  my  hands.  We  were  boarding  and  rooming 

11 


12  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

with  a  private  family  on  Harrison  avenue  on  the  night  of 
the  Haymarket  riot,  when  an  anarchist's  bomb  killed  and 
maimed  over  sixty  of  the  city's  police  officers.  We  went 
to  bed  expecting  a  riot  before  morning,  so  we  were  not 
surprised  when  we  heard  the  explosion  of  the  bomb,  and, 
soon  after,  the  shooting  which  followed.  A  young  lawyer, 
Reynolds  by  name,  ran  to  our  room  to  tell  me  to  get 
ready  and  go  with  him  to  the  riot,  but  my  frightened 
girl-wife  held  on  to  me  and  wouldn't  let  me  go,  though  I 
sent  a  representative  in  the  shape  of  my  silver-plated, 
pearl-handled  "Colt's  45"  pistol,  which  had  been  my  com 
panion  on  the  cattle  range  and  which  still  keeps  me  com 
pany  as  I  write.  Reynolds  had  borrowed  my  pistol  and 
as  he  ran  around  a  corner  at  the  Haymarket  with  the 
"gun"  in  his  hands,  policemen  opened  fire  on  him,  think 
ing  that  he  was  an  anarchist.  He  dodged  into  a  door, 
went  up  a  flight  of  stairs  and  out  an  alley  gate  and  flew 
for  home  like  a  scared  wolf.  With  face  as  white  as  snow 
he  handed  me  the  pistol  while  I  still  lay  in  bed,  saying 
that  he  had  enough  of  the  riot  business,  as  several  bullets 
had  whizzed  close  to  his  head. 

After  the  riot  the  city  was  all  excitement,  and  I  com 
menced  to  wish  that  I  were  a  detective  so  as  to  help 
ferret  out  the  thrower  of  the  bomb  and  his  backers.  I 
knew  very  little  about  the  detective  business,  though  I 
had  spent  part  of  1881  and  1882  doing  secret  work  for 
Texas  cattlemen  against  cattle  thieves  in  western  Texas 
and  New  Mexico.  This  had  given  me  a  taste  for  the 
work,  and  I  liked  it.  Besides,  I  had  been  told  by  a  blind 
phrenologist  that  I  was  "cut  out"  for  a  detective.  At 
that  time  I  didn't  believe  in  phrenology,  but  this  man 


13 

being  as  blind  as  a  bat  and  telling  so  many  truths  about 
people  I  knew,  convinced  me  that  there  was  something 
besides  wind  and  graft  in  phrenology.  Had  this  man 
not  been  blind,  I  would  have  attributed  his  knowledge 
to  his  ability  to  read  faces. 

It  was  in  the  year  1884.  I  lived  in  Caldwell,  Kansas,  a 
cattle  town  on  the  border  of  Kansas  and  the  Indian  Ter 
ritory.  Circulars  were  scattered  broadcast  over  the  town 
announcing  the  coming  of  this  noted  phrenologist.  After 
supper,  on  the  evening  of  his  arrival,  many  leading  citi 
zens  turned  out  to  hear  him  lecture  at  the  Leland  Hotel. 
He  stood  in  the  center  of  a  large  parlor,  holding  to  the 
back  of  an  empty  chair.  He  was  a  fine  looking  old  man, 
regardless  of  the  fact  that  both  eyes  were  out.  After 
making  a  few  preliminary  remarks  on  phrenology,  he 
called  for  some  one  to  come  forward  and  have  his  head 
examined.  The  audience  began  calling  for  our  popular 
city  marshal,  Henry  Brown,  who  had  only  been  marshal 
a  short  time,  but  who  had  won  glory  and  a  new  gold 
star  by  killing  several  men,  including  an  Indian  chief, 
"Spotted  Horse,"  who  had  taken  on  more  "fire-water" 
than  he  could  carry.  Brown  hesitated  quite  awhile  about 
having  his  head  "felt."  He  knew  better  than  any  one 
else  in  the  audience  as  to  what  was  in  his  head  and  he 
didn't  want  to  risk  having  his  faults  told.  He  finally 
went  out  and  sat  down  in  the  chair.  But  it  was  soon 
made  plain  by  the  color  of  his  face  that  he  regretted 
going.  He  stuck  it  out  though,  and  heard  some  very 
uncomplimentary  remarks  said  against  himself.  I  knew 
that  the  phrenologist  was  telling  the  truth,  because  I  had 
known  Henry  Brown  when  he  was  a  member  of  the 


14  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

notorious  "Billy  the  Kid's"  outlaw  gang  in  the  Pan 
handle  of  Texas,  and  the  Territory  of  New  Mexico.  I 
first  became  acquainted  with  him  through  introduction 
by  "Billy  the  Kid"  in  the  fall  of  1878.  I  had  just  re 
turned  to  the  Panhandle  from  Chicago,  where  I  had  been 
with  a  shipment  of  fat  steers,  and  had  found  "Billy  the 
Kid"  and  his  gang  camped  at  the  L  X  ranch  where  I 
was  employed  as  one  of  the  cowboy  foremen.  I  pre 
sented  "Billy  the  Kid"  with  a  fine  meerschaum  cigar 
holder,  which  I  had  bought  in  Chicago,  and  he  in  turn 
presented  me  with  a  book  containing  his  autograph.  He 
also  introduced  me  to  several  of  his  men,  one  of  them 
being  Henry  Brown.  During  that  winter  Brown  and 
a  half-breed  Indian  quit  "the  Kid's"  outlaw  gang  and 
went  to  the  Indian  Teritory,  and  I  lost  track  of  him  until 
I  met  him  wearing  an  officer's  star  in  Caldwell,  Kansas. 
He  begged  me  to  not  give  him  away  as  he  intended  to 
reform  and  lead  an  honorable  life.  But  I  regretted  after 
wards  that  I  didn't  tell  the  citizens  of  Caldwell  of  his  past 
record.  For,  while  acting  as  city  marshal  of  Caldwell, 
and  while  wearing  his  star,  he  rode  into  Medicine  Lodge, 
a  nearby  town,  with  his  chief  deputy,  Ben  Wheeler,  and 
two  cowboys,  and  in  broad  daylight  held  up  the  Medicine 
Lodge  Bank  and  killed  the  bank  president,  Wiley  Pain, 
and  his  cashier.  After  a  lively  chase  by  the  citizens  of 
Medicine  Lodge  the  four  robbers  were  caught  and  jailed. 
That  night  when  the  mob  opened  the  jail  door  to  hang 
them,  Brown  and  Wheeler  made  a  break  for  liberty, 
knocking  men  down  as  they  ran.  Brown  was  killed  with 
a  charge  of  buckshot  and  Wheeler  and  the  two  cowboys 
were  hung  to  a  nearby  tree. 


BEN  WHEELER. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  15 

After  the  blind  phrenologist  had  finished  Brown's  head, 
he  called  for  another  subject.  This  time  the  crowd  began 
calling  for  Mr.  Theodore  Baufman,  the  Oklahoma  scout. 
"Bauf"  needed  very  little  coaxing.  He  strutted  out, 
carrying  his  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  of  flesh  with 
the  air  of  a  king.  The  phrenologist  ran  his  hand  over 
"Bauf's"  head  just  once,  and  then  said:  "Ladies  and 
gentlemen,  here  is  a  man  who,  if  the  Indians  were  on  the 
warpath  and  he  should  run  across  one  lone  Indian  on  the 
plains,  he  would  tell  his  friends  that  he  had  seen  a  thou 
sand  warriors."  This  caused  such  yelling  and  laughter 
that  Baufman  was  angry  for  weeks;  but  I,  for  one, 
knew  that  the  phrenologist  had  told  the  truth,  as  I  had 
worked  with  "Bauf"  on  the  range  as  early  as  1878  and 
therefore  knew  that  his  worst  failings  were  a  fear  of  hard 
work  and  the  stretching  of  the  truth. 

Next  the  audience  began  calling  for  "Mamie,"  my 
sixteen-year-old  wife.  She  took  the  seat  and  the  blind 
man  ran  his  hand  over  her  head  once.  He  then  said: 
"Here  is  a  good-natured  little  somebody  who  cannot  tell 
a  lie  or  do  a  wrong."  The  balance  he  told  was  what  we 
all  knew  to  be  true. 

Next  the  crowd  called  for  me.  I  went  forward  and  sat 
down  in  the  chair.  The  blind  man  laid  his  hand  on  the 
top  of  my  head  and  then  said:  "Ladies  and  gentlemen, 
here  is  a  mule's  head."  When  the  laughter  had  subsided 
he  explained  that  I  had  a  large  stubborn  bump,  hence 
was  as  stubborn  as  a  mule.  He  then  said  I  had  a  fine 
head  for  a  newspaper  editor,  a  fine  stock  raiser,  or  detec 
tive;  that  in  any  of  these  callings  I  would  make  a  suc 
cess.  So,  during  the  excitement  following  the  anarchist 


16  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE. 

riot  in  Chicago,  this  old  man's  words  began  to  bear  fruit 
and  I  concluded  to  try  my  hand  as  a  detective. 

But  the  question  arose  as  to  the  best  way  to  start  in  the 
business,  my  main  object  being  to  see  the  world  and  learn 
human  nature.  I  wisely  concluded  to  start  right  by 
entering  the  greatest  detective  school  on  earth — the 
Dickenson  National  Detective  Agency.  My  steps  were 
light  and  my  hopes  buoyant  when  on  the  29th  day  of 
June,  1886,  I  stepped  into  S.  A.  Kean  &  Co.'s  Bank  and 
asked  the  cashier,  Mr.  Yure,  for  a  letter  of  introduction 
to  Mr.  Wm.  L.  Dickenson.  I  was  slightly  acquainted  with 
this  cashier,  as  I  had  done  business  with  his  bank.  He 
replied  that  he  would  speak  to  Mr.  Kean.  He  soon  re 
turned  and  wrote  me  the  letter.  It  read  as  follows : 

"CHICAGO,  ILL.,  June  29th,  1886. 
Dickenson  Detective  Agency, 
City. 

Gentlemen : — The  bearer,  Mr.  Chas.  A.  Siringo,  we  know  to 
be  a  person  of  good  character,  and  having  been  a  cowboy  and 
brought  up  on  the  plains,  his  services  and  ability  are  commend 
able  to  you.  S.  A.  KEAN  &  Co.,  Bankers." 

Armed  with  this  letter  of  introduction  I  bolted  into  the 
Dickenson  Agency.  I  found  the  air  in  the  main  office 
impregnated  with  mystery  and  suspicion.  A  dozen  pairs 
of  eyes  were  focused  on  me  as  though  I  were  an  an 
archist  with  a  bomb  up  my  sleeve.  I  asked  to  see  Mr. 
"Billy"  Dickenson.  I  had  often  heard  him  called  "Billy," 
and  my  lack  of  business  knowledge  prevented  me  from 
using  his  proper  name.  The  attendant  informed  me  that 
he  couldn't  be  seen,  but  that  any  word  or  letter  which  I 
might  have  could  be  conveyed  to  him.  I  then  wrote  a 
note  addressed  to  Mr.  "Billy"  Dickenson,  stating  my  busi- 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  17 

ness,  and  enclosed  it  with  the  banker's  letter  of  introduc 
tion.  The  young  man  disappeared  with  these  letters.  In 
about  twenty  minutes  he  returned  with  the  S.  A.  Kean 
letter,  on  the  bottom  of  which  was  written  in  Mr.  Dicken- 
son's  own  handwriting : 

"Capt.  Farley: — The  party  referred  to  in  this  letter  is  undoubt 
edly  a  good  man. — Wm.  L.  Dickenson." 

I  was  told  to  go  down  stairs  and  present  the  Kean  & 
Co.  letter  to  Capt.  Farley.  I  did  so.  He  read  it,  then 
handed  it  back  to  me,  and  I  still  retain  it  as  a  relic  of 
bygone  days. 

After  being  put  through  a  test  by  Capt.  Mike  Farley, 
I  was  allowed  to  see  the  "big  chief,"  Wm.  L.  Dickenson. 
He  asked  for  references  and  I  gave  him  the  names  of 
David  T.  Beals,  president  of  the  Union  National  Bank  of 
Kansas  City,  Mo. ;  Jas.  H.  East,  a  popular  Texas  sheriff, 
and  Pat  Garrett,  the  slayer  of  "Billy  the  Kid."  In  1880 
I  had  assisted  Garrett  in  running  down  that  noted  out 
law  and  his  murderous  gang;  hence  I  felt  safe  in  giving 
this  noted  "bad"  man-killer  as  reference. 

Mr.  Dickenson  said  he  would  write  to  these  men  at 
once,  and  if  their  replies  were  favorable,  he  would  give 
me  a  position  in  a  new  office  which  they  were  opening 
in  Denver,  Colo.  He  said  they  would  need  a  cowboy  de 
tective  there,  as  they  figured  on  getting  a  lot  of  cattle 
work.  I  had  told  Mr.  Dickenson  that  the  east  was  too 
tame  for  me,  hence  I  wanted  a  position  in  the  west. 

After  the  interview  I  went  home  to  wait  a  week  or 
two  for  replies  from  my  references,  and  while  waiting,  I 
broke  into  jail  for  the  first  time  in  my  life. 

It  was  Saturday  evening  after  dark.    The  mix-up  took 

2 


18  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

place  at  Barnum's  circus  near  the  ticket  wagon,  when 
the  great  crowd  was  scrambling  to  buy  tickets  to  the 
circus.  A  large  man,  who  would  have  made  two  of  me, 
tried  to  be  fresh  and  I  called  him  down.  He  made  a  pass 
to  put  me  to  sleep  the  first  punch  but  before  he  could 
get  in  his  work  the  weight  of  my  old  Colt's  45  pistol 
had  landed  on  his  head.  This  was  followed  up  with 
one  more  lick  which  buried  the  sharp  pistol-sight  into 
his  skull.  This  brought  the  blood  in  a  stream.  By  this 
time  his  partner  had  picked  up  a  piece  of  board  and  had 
it  raised  to  strike  me  from  the  rear.  I  saw  him  just  in 
time.  He  found  a  cocked  pistol  in  his  face,  and  dropping 
the  board2  begged  for  mercy.  Both  of  these  men  had 
wives  with  them  and  they  were  crying  and  screaming. 
No  doubt  they  thought  their  "hubbies"  had  innocently 
stirred  up  a  hornet's  nest.  A  policeman  came  running  up, 
but  he  was  so  excited  that  he  forgot  to  take  my  pistol, 
so  I  put  it  back  into  my  pocket.  This  good-looking 
young  policeman  informed  me  that  I  was  under  arrest. 
I  told  him  that  I  wouldn't  be  arrested  unless  he  also 
arrested  the  other  two  men.  He  then  told  them  to  con 
sider  themselves  under  arrest.  The  wounded  man,  whose 
face  and  neck  and  white  shirt  front  were  red  with  blood, 
begged  not  to  be  put  in  a  patrol  wagon.  Therefore,  as 
it  was  only  a  few  blocks  to  the  Harrison  street  police 
station,  the  officer  consented  to  let  us  walk.  The  other 
two  prisoners  and  their  nicely  dressed  wives  took  the  lead, 
while  the  officer  and  I  brought  up  the  rear.  We  had  only 
gone  a  block  when  the  wounded  man  balked.  He 
wouldn't  budge  until  I  surrendered  my  arsenal  to  the 
policeman.  He  had  suddenly  remembered  that  I  still 
had  the  pistol. 


A   CO W BOY  DETECTIVE  19 

On  reaching  the  Harrison  street  station  we  stepped 
up  to  a  desk  behind  which  sat  a  very  old,  fat  man.  My 
pistol  was  laid  on  his  desk  and  the  policeman  told  him  I 
had  used  it  on  the  red  man.  The  old  fellow  eyed  me, 
then  the  pistol,  then  the  man  covered  with  blood  and  his 
nice  broadcloth  suit  ruined.  He  asked  me  if  I  had  use'd 
this  pistol  on  the  man.  I  replied  "Yes."  Then  he  said, 
"I'll  fix  you,  young  man.  I'll  make  the  charge  assault 
with  intent  to  murder."  He  then  began  writing  it  down 
in  his  book.  The  tiger  blood  in  me  began  to  boil.  I 
finally  turned  myself  loose  and  called  the  old  bald-headed 
"judge"  some  hard  names.  The  policeman  tried  to  stop 
me  but  failed.  Then  he  leaned  over  the  desk  and  whis 
pered  something  to  the  "judge"  who  changed  the  charge 
to  "assault  with  a  deadly  weapon."  This  satisfied  me  and 
I  sat  down. 

Then  the  "judge"  told  the  officer  to  call  the  patrol 
wagon  and  have  me  taken  to  jail.  While  awaiting  the 
patrol  wagon,  I  secured  the  consent  of  the  kind-hearted 
policeman  to  deliver  a  message  for  me.  I  told  him  to  go 
to  Umbdenstock's  Lithographing  and  Printing  office  and 
tell  them  I  was  in  jail.  I  was  well  known  there  and 
hoped  that  some  one  would  be  in  the  office,  as  it  was 
Saturday  night.  Shortly  after,  I  had  a  nice  free  buggy 
ride  in  the  "hurry  up"  wagon  and  was  put  behind  steel 
bars.  For  an  hour  I  paced  up  and  down  before  the 
heavy  bars  like  a  caged  lion.  It  seemed  as  though  I  was 
doomed  to  remain  in  jail  until  Monday  morning  without 
my  wife  knowing  of  it.  That  worried  me  the  worst. 

About  9  o'clock  Mr.  Mike  Shea,  a  wood  engraver, 
came  to  the  jail  and  heard  my  tale  of  woe.  He  ex- 


20  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

plained  that  he  was  the  only  person  left  in  the  Umbden- 
stock  office  when  the  policeman  arrived  with  my  message. 
Shea  told  me  to  rest  easy  and  he  would  have  me  out 
soon.  He  then  left  to  see  the  judge  who  ruled  over  that 
district.  Soon  after,  Mr.  Shea  and  a  lithographer  friend 
of  mine  drove  up  in  a  buggy.  They  said  they  would 
have  to  drive  sixteen  miles  to  the  judge's  residence  out 
on  the  edge  of  the  city.  The  lithographer,  whose  name  I 
have  forgot,  was  a  leading  Elk  and  a  particular  friend  of 
the  judge  of  the  Harrison  street  police  station,  so  for  this 
reason  Mr.  Shea  was  taking  him  along  to  "work"  the 
judge,  whose  name  I  cannot  recall.  At  2  o'clock  Sunday 
morning  my  good  friends  returned  with  the  bond  signed 
by  the  judge  and  I  was  liberated.  It  was  4  A.  M.  when  I 
reached  home. 

Monday  morning  I  was  in  the  court  room  which  was 
crowded  with  people.  I  had  no  lawyer  or  witnesses,  but 
was  trusting  to  luck,  though  the  attorney  who  had  used 
my  pistol  at  the  Haymarket  riot  was  present,  ready  to 
offer  assistance.  When  my  case  was  called  the  two  men 
and  their  wives  were  put  on  the  stand  and  they  all  swore 
lies  against  me.  I  was  then  called  up  and  told  my  story. 
When  I  had  finished  the  judge  asked  me  if  I  had  any  wit 
nesses.  I  replied  "No."  Here  a  nicely  dressed  old 
Scotchman  rose  up  in  the  crowd  and  said:  "Your 
Honor,  I  am  a  witness  for  that  young  man."  This  was 
a  great  surprise  to  me  and  showed  that  luck  was  on  my 
side.  The  old  gentleman  was  put  on  the  stand  and  cor 
roborated  my  statement.  He  said  he  was  taking  a  ship 
ment  of  draft  horses  back  to  his  home  in  Scotland ;  that 
he  was  trying  to  get  up  to  the  circus  wagon  to  buy  a 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  21 

ticket  to  the  show,  when  the  fracas  began,  and  thinking 
that  I  might  need  help,  he  had  come  up  to  the  court 
room  this  morning.  I  thanked  the  old  fellow  later  at 
his  hotel,  but  I  regret  that  his  name  has  slipped  my 
memory. 

As  soon  as  the  Scotchman  left  the  stand  the  judge 
dismissed  the  case.  With  a  smile  he  said  to  me:  "Here, 
young  man,  take  your  pistol  and  go  home."  Thanking 
him,  I  started  out  with  the  pistol  and  cartridges  in  my 
hand.  I  looked  at  the  prosecuting  witnesses  with  a 
happy  smile.  They  looked  daggers  at  me  in  return.  I 
afterwards  learned  that  these  people  owned  a  restaurant 
on  South  Clark  street,  and  that  the  sore-headed  one  had 
a  reputation  as  a  slugger  and  prize  fighter. 

If  Mr.  Dickenson  ever  learned  of  my  breaking  into  jail 
while  waiting  to  be  put  onto  the  secret  force  of  his 
agency,  he  kept  it  to  himself.  The  secret  might  have 
prevented  my  securing  the  position,  and  again,  it  might 
have  helped  me,  as  I  have  since  found  out  that  the  agency 
officials  admire  a  fighter  when  it  is  known  that  he  is  in 
the  right,  though,  of  course,  they  want  their  men  to  use 
their  brains  to  control  their  trigger  finger. 

My  first  work  was  on  the  great  anarchist  Haymarket 
riot  case,  and  I  remained  on  it  to  the  end  of  the  trial, 
when  the  ringleaders  were  convicted. 

Parsons,  Engel,  Fischer  and  Spies  were  hung.  Ling 
blew  his  head  off  in  jail  with  a  bomb,  and  Schwab,  Field 
ing  and  Neebe  were  sent  to  the  penitentiary  for  a  long 
term  of  years. 

I  heard  most  of  the  evidence,  but  I  couldn't  see  the 
justice  of  sending  Neebe  to  the  pen.  All  that  he  did  was 


22  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

to  set  the  type  in  the  "revenge"  circular  which  was  cir 
culated,  calling  a  mass  meeting  on  Haymarket  Square  to 
revenge  the  killing  of  strikers  in  a  late  riot  in  the  Mc- 
Cormick  factory.  The  evidence  was  in  Neebe's  favor, 
except  that  he  was  running  with  a  bad  erowd,  and  did 
his  loafing  where  the  beer  schooners  were  the  largest. 
They  were  all  tried  in  a  bunch  for  the  killing  of  Degan, 
one  of  the  policemen  killed  outright  by  the  bomb  which 
was  thrown  from  an  alley  by  an  anarchist,  supposed  to  be 
Shnoebelt.  A  witness  or  two  swore  that  they  recognized 
Shnoebelt  when  his  companion  lit  the  match  to  light  the 
fuse ;  that  then  Shnoebelt  threw  the  bomb  into  the  squad 
of  policemen,  whose  commander,  Bonfield,  had  just 
ordered  the  mob  to  disperse.  Albert  Parsons  was  stand 
ing  in  a  wagon  making  a  speech  at  the  time.  The  next 
day  Shnoebelt  was  arrested  for  the  throwing  of  the  bomb, 
though  a  couple  of  days  later  it  was  claimed  that  he  was 
liberated  for  want  of  evidence  to  hold  him.  Still  later, 
they  claimed  to  have  positive  evidence  of  his  guilt,  but 
too  late,  as  he  had  skipped  for  Germany.  My  own  opinion 
is  that  Shnoebelt  was  murdered  in  jail  by  angry  police 
men,  and  his  body  put  out  of  the  way.  At  least,  I  re 
ceived  hints  to  that  effect  from  men  who  were  on  the 
inside. 

A  million  dollars  had  been  subscribed  by  the  Citizens' 
League  to  stamp  out  anarchy  in  Chicago,  and  no  doubt 
much  of  it  was  used  to  corrupt  justice.  Still,  the  hang 
ing  of  these  anarchists  had  a  good  effect  and  was  worth 
a  million  dollars  to  society.  Now,  if  the  law-abiding 
people  of  the  whole  United  States  would  contribute  one 
hundred  times  one  million  dollars  to  stamp  out  anarchy 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  23 

and  dynamiting,  the  coming  generation  would  be  saved 
much  suffering  and  bloodshed,  for  we  are  surely  playing 
with  fire  when  we  receive  with  open  arms  anarchists  from 
foreign  countries  and  pat  them  on  the  back  for  blowing 
up  Russian  and  English  Royalty.  These  chickens  will 
come  home  to  roost  in  our  back  yard  some  day. 

I  had  talked  with  Policeman  Degan,  a  fine  officer,  be 
fore  his  death,  as  his  beat  was  near  where  we  lived,  and 
knowing  the  man,  I  couldn't  much  blame  his  brother  of 
ficers  for  losing  their  heads  and  wanting  to  wreak  ven 
geance  on  all  who  upheld  anarchy. 

After  the  anarchist  case  was  finished,  I  did  all  kinds 
of  small  jobs,  such  as  "shadowing"  bank  clerks  and  of 
ficials,  down  to  looking  up  a  lost  jewel  or  child.  During 
this  time  I  had  to  study  the  rules  and  regulations  of  the 
Dickenson  Agency,  which  were  in  book  form. 

The  next  important  case  that  I  was  put  on  was  against 
the  Irish  National  League,  for  the  English  government. 
About  half  a  dozen  of  us  "sleuths"  were  put  on  the  case 
under  the  direct  supervision  of  assistant  superintendent 
John  O'Flyn.  This  being  such  an  important  operation, 
Supt.  Jamieson,  a  kind-hearted  old  man,  called  us  all  into 
his  office  and  explained  the  importance  of  doing  our  best 
and  not  getting  together  when  working  around  the  Irish 
League  headquarters. 

I  was  on  this  case  over  a  month,  and  learned  many  new 
lessons.  Operative  Jakey  Teufel  and  I  went  to  Cincin 
nati,  Ohio,  with  two  Irish  would-be  destroyers  of  the 
English  crown. 

During  the  next  couple  of  months  I  had  many  opera 
tions  in  the  city  of  Chicago.  They  were  of  every  class, 


24  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

some  lasting  for  weeks,  and  others  only  for  a  few  min 
utes  or  hours.  A  good  share  of  the  time  was  spent  in  the 
slums,  or  what  should  be  called  "Hell's  Half  Acre." 
Here  I  learned  some  valuable  lessons  in  human  nature 
and  saw  many  eye-openers. 

I  had  one  operation  which  was  a  picnic.  It  was  easy, 
"all  same"  getting  money  from  your  wife's  relatives. 

I  was  put  to  work  "shadowing"  a  long-legged,  red 
headed  banker.  He  had  to  be  in  the  bank  most  of  the 
day,  but  at  night  he  showed  me  a  touch  of  high  life.  He 
would  go  into  tough  places  and  drink  wine  with  the  in 
mates.  I  had  to  do  likewise  so  as  to  find  out  how  much 
money  his  Royal  Nibs  was  blowing  in.  This  was  my 
first  experience  in  having  a  "good  time"  at  some  one 
else's  expense. 

We  were  glad  when  fall  came  and  Mr.  W.  L.  Dicken- 
son  called  me  into  his  private  office  to  tell  me  to  get  ready 
and  move  to  Denver,  Colo.,  there  to  join  the  force  of 
their  new  office  which  was  opened  for  business  a  few 
months  previous. 

Our  friends  in  Chicago  were  bidden  farewell,  and 
Mamie  and  little  Viola  were  put  into  a  Pullman  sleeper 
and  we  turned  our  faces  back  toward  the  setting  sun. 

My  work  was  of  all  kinds  during  this  first  winter  in 
Denver.  I  had  quite  a  lot  of  investigating  to  do,  as  well 
as  helping  to  run  down  city  crooks  and  law  breakers  in 
general.  I  helped  break  up  a  gang  of  crooked  street  car 
conductors  who  had  duplicate  punches  to  ring  in  on  the 
company  and  thereby  make  from  ten  to  twenty  dollars 
a  day  each  for  himself.  Horses  were  the  motive  power 
then. 


CHAPTER  II 

ARCHULETA  COUNTY  UPRISING — ROPE  SECURED  TO  HANG 
ME — RUNNING  DOWN  A  WELLS-FARGO  ROBBER  IN 
OLD  MEXICO — WE  CAPTURE  THE  NOTED  BASSICK 
MINE. 

Early  in  the  spring  of  1887  I  was  sent  out  on  my  first 
cowboy  operation. 

In  the  southwestern  part  of  Colorado  on  the  border  of 
New  Mexico,  was  situated  the  County  of  Archuleta,  the 
county  seat  being  Pagosa  Springs,  and  the  nearest  rail 
road  being  Amargo,  New  Mexico. 

What  the  Denver  newspapers  called  anarchy,  and  a 
great  uprising,  had  broken  loose  in  this  county  which 
contained  only  about  seventy-five  voters.  The  residents 
of  Archuleta  county  were  mostly  "Americans,"  but  the 
Archuleta  brothers  of  Amargo,  New  Mexico,  ruled  polit 
ically  by  flooding  the  county  on  election  day  with  their 
New  Mexican  sheep  herders  who  voted. 

Finally  the  citizens  rebelled  and  drove  all  the  county 
officials  with  the  exception  of  the  sheriff  and  county  clerk, 
who  joined  the  insurgents,  out  of  the  country.  They 
even  burnt  up  some  of  their  property  and  threatened 
death  if  they  ever  returned. 

In  order  to  retain  their  office  by  law,  the  five  deported 
county  commissioners,  "Press"  and  "Don"  Archuleta, 
Bendito  Martinez,  Mr.  Scase  and  J.  M.  Archuleta,  had  to 
hold  a  county  commissioners'  meeting  within  sixty  days ; 

25 


36  'A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

hence  my  being  sent  on  ahead  as  a  Texas  outlaw,  so  as 
to  be  one  of  the  revolutionists  should  a  battle  take  place. 

In  Durango,  Colorado,  I  bought  a  horse  and  saddle 
and  rode  sixty  miles  to  Pagosa  Springs.  Enroute  I 
stopped  at  the  G.  cattle  ranch  and  made  myself  solid  with 
Gordon  G.,  who  was  one  of  the  ringleaders  of  the  up 
rising  and  known  as  a  "bad"  man  from  Texas. 

While  at  the  G.  ranch  I  confided  in  Gordon  by  telling 
him  of  how  I  had  killed  three  Mexicans  in  Texas  and 
had  to  skip.  He  also  told  me  of  trouble  he  had  in  Texas. 

On  reaching  Pagosa  Springs,  I  headed  straight  for  the 
residence  of  E.  M.  Taylor,  the  County  clerk,  who  was  the 
brains  and  the  leader  of  the  revolutionists. 

I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  establish  myself  at  the 
Taylor  residence  if  nerve  and  gall  could  accomplish  the 
feat. 

Riding  up  to  the  porch  I  tied  my  horse  and  knocked 
on  the  front  door.  Mrs.  Taylor  appeared  and  informed 
me  that  her  husband  had  gone  to  his  sheep  ranch,  and 
would  not  be  back  till  dark.  I  asked  if  I  couldn't  wait 
there  until  his  return.  She  asked  why  I  wished  to  see 
him.  Told  her  that  I  wanted  to  live  with  them  awhile. 
Here  the  little  lady  climbed  upon  her  dignity  and  in 
formed  me  that  they  did  not  keep  boarders;  that  there 
were  two  hotels  in  town.  She  then  slammed  the  door  in 
my  face. 

Recalling  that  old  saying :  "Faint  heart  ne'er  won  fair 
lady,"  I  determined  to  try  it.  So  unsaddling  my  pony 
and  placing  the  saddle  on  the  porch,  I  took  the  horse  to 
the  stable  and  gave  him  a  good  feed  of  grain  and  hay. 
Then  returning  to  the  porch,  I  lay  down  on  the  saddle. 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  27 

It  was  a  damp,  cold  day,  and  through  the  window  I 
could  see  Mrs.  Taylor  and  her  only  child,  a  ten-year-old 
daughter,  sitting  by  the  blazing  fire  in  the  hearth. 
Through  the  window  they  could  also  see  me. 

About  dusk  Mr.  Taylor  rode  up  on  his  horse  and 
wanted  to  know  what  was  up.  I  told  him  my  tale  of  woe 
— that  I  had  got  into  trouble  in  Texas  and  was  hiding 
out — hence  did  not  want  to  stop  at  a  hotel.  Also  that  I 
was  a  friend  of  Gordon  G.'s.  He  replied  that  if  I  was  a 
friend  of  Gordon's  I  could  stop  with  them,  providing  he 
could  get  his  wife's  consent.  He  was  absent  in  the  house 
long  enough  to  get  the  consent  of  ten  men. 

Mrs.  Taylor  was  a  splendid  cook,  and  the  warm  supper 
hit  the  soft  spot  in  my  heart.  And  the  nice  clean  bed  in 
a  cozy  front  room  put  me  at  peace  with  all  the  world. 

Shortly  after  I  had  established  myself  in  the  home  of 
Mr.  Taylor,  the  county  commissioners,  with  the  county 
judge,  J.  Archuleta,  and  the  county  attorney,  Jas.  L. 
Russell,  returned  from  New  Mexico  under  an  escort  of 
sixty  mounted  and  well  armed  Mexicans. 

We  revolutionists,  about  seventy-five  strong,  met  them 
at  the  bridge  spanning  the  San  Juan  river,  and  pre 
vented  them  from  entering  the  town.  Communications 
were  carried  on  through  flags  of  truce. 

Our  side  were  mostly  wild  and  woolly  cowboys  and 
ranchmen,  and  we  had  plenty  of  liquor  to  keep  up  our 
fighting  spirit. 

The  county  officials  were  camped  in  an  old  house  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  swift  flowing  San  Juan  river, 
while  their  armed  escort  were  housed  in  the  vacated  gov 
ernment  barracks,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant  from  the 
river. 


28  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

A  plot  was  laid  to  assassinate  the  seven  officials  at 
3  A.  M.  Two  men  were  to  cross  the  river  above  town 
and  slip  along  under  the  bank  to  a  haystack  which  ad 
joined  the  house  in  which  the  officials  slept.  The  hay 
stack  was  to  be  set  on  fire.  This  would  burn  the  house. 
Men  secreted  behind  rocks  on  our  side  of  the  river  were 
to  shoot  down  the  gentlemen  as  they  ran  out  of  the  burn 
ing  building. 

About  II  p.  M.  I  waded  the  river  half  a  mile  above 
town  and  made  a  swift  run  to  notify  the  armed  guards 
doing  duty  at  the  old  government  barracks. 

Jose  Martinez,  brother  to  Bendito  Martinez,  promised 
that  he  would  give  me  ample  time  to  get  back  to  the 
saloon  where  our  mob  was  congregated,  before  notifying 
the  officials.  But  this  he  failed  to  do;  the  result  being 
that  our  guards  on  the  bridge  saw  the  officials  running 
with  their  valises  over  to  the  camp  of  their  fighting  men. 
Then  the  drunken  mob  began  counting  noses  to  see  who 
of  their  party  were  absent  to  have  warned  the  enemy. 
Of  course,  I  was  missed.  Hence  when  I  returned  there 
was  something  "doing,"  and  they  were  determined  to 
hang  me.  But  my  friends,  Taylor,  Dyke  and  Gordon, 
believed  my  protests  of  innocence  and  my  life  was  spared. 

They  decided  to  set  a  trap  for  me  the  next  night.  They 
concluded  that  if  I  were  the  guilty  party  I  must  have 
communicated  the  secret  to  Mrs.  Scase,  and  she  sent  the 
news  to  her  husband  by  one  of  her  small  boys.  It  puzzled 
them  to  know  how  I  could  have  waded  the  swift  river, 
which  was  waist  deep,  without  wetting  my  clothes.  They 
had  felt  to  see  if  they  were  wet.  They  did  not  know  that 
I  disrobed  while  crossing  the  river. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  29 

County  Commissioner  Scase  had  a  Mexican  wife,  and 
when  the  mob  burnt  up  their  residence  and  livery  stable 
and  escorted  Mr.  Scase  over  the  line  into  New  Mexico, 
they  allowed  Mrs.  Scase  and  her  children  to  occupy  an 
old  shack  on  the  bank  of  the  San  Juan  river.  So  at  this 
shack  the  trap  was  set  to  catch  me.  They  felt  sure  that 
if  I  were  a  detective  I  would  communicate  with  Mrs. 
Scase.  Therefore,  they  had  two  men  detailed  to  watch 
this  shack.  They  secreted  themselves  in  a  large  wood  pile 
near  the  front  door.  These  men  took  turns  about  guard 
ing. 

We  had  a  dance  that  night.  All  attended  but  the  men 
on  duty  guarding  the  bridge  and  the  Scase  shack. 

About  ii  p.  M.  I  walked  in  a  round-about-way  to  the 
Scase  residence  to  deposit  some  short  hand  notes  in  the 
back  of  an  old  oil  painting  which  hung  on  the  wall,  and 
which  had  escaped  the  fire.  I  passed  within  a  few  yards 
of  the  wood  pile  where  the  armed  guard  was  doing  duty. 

Securing  the  door  key  under  a  board — where  Mrs. 
Scase  had  promised  to  leave  it — I  entered  the  front  room 
and  deposited  the  notes.  Then  I  sat  on  the  edge  of  the 
bed  talking  to  Mrs.  Scase  a  moment.  The  children  were 
sound  asleep. 

In  taking  my  departure  I  slipped  a  board  out  of  place 
along  the  wall,  facing  the  river,  and  made  a  jump  of 
about  twelve  feet  onto  the  rocky  edge  of  the  river.  Mrs. 
Scase  replaced  the  board. 

As  soon  as  I  entered  the  door  the  young  man  in  the 
wood  pile  ran  to  the  dance  hall  to  tell  the  half  drunken 
mob  that  the  suspect  was  caught  in  the  trap.  All  grabbed 
their  rifles  or  shotguns  and  raided  the  Scase  shack.  I 


30  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE, 

was  told  that  Mrs.  Scase  stood  pat  and  insisted  that  I 
had  not  been  there. 

When  I  entered  the  dance  hall  the  ladies  and  children 
turned  their  gaze  onto  me.  There  were  no  men  in  the 
place  but  the  two  fiddlers.  A  runner  was  sent  to  inform 
the  mob  that  I  was  in  the  hall. 

In'  a  few  moments  the  hall  was  a  surging  mass  of 
armed  men.  Gordon  G.  touched  me  on  the  shoulder,  saying : 
"Anderson,  I  want  to  speak  to  you."  He  led  the  way 
into  a  side  room  where  there  was  a  carpenter's  work 
bench,  and  pointing  to  this  bench,  he  asked  me  to  sit 
down  as  he  wished  to  ask  me  some  questions.  Around 
my  waist  were  old  Colt's  45  and  a  pearl-handled  bowie 
knife.  My  first  impulse  was  to  draw  the  pistol  and  fight 
my  way  out,  but  on  second  thought  I  concluded  that 
would  be  showing  bad  detective  ability. 

I  sat  down  on  the  bench  facing  Gordon,  who  stood  six 
feet  in  his  stockings,  and  was  otherwise  every  inch  a  man. 
Placing  both  hands  on  my  knees  and  looking  me  square 
in  the  face,  he  said :  "Now,  Anderson,  I  want  you  to  tell 
me  the  truth.  If  you  do  I  can  save  you,  otherwise  you 
are  going  to  be  killed.  Now,  remember,  don't  lie  to  me. 
I  want  the  truth.  Are  you  a  detective?"  I  answered, 
"no."  He  then  continued :  "Well,  what  were  you  doing 
in  Mrs.  Scase's  house  tonight?"  I  replied  that  I  did  not 
know  Mrs.  Scase,  nor  had  I  ever  been  in  her  house.  Said 
he:  "Well,  one  of  our  men  swears  he  saw  you  go  in 
there." 

At  this  I  jumped  off  the  bench  and  with  my  hand  on 
old  Colt's  45,  demanded  that  he  show  me  the  dirty  whelp 
that  would  tell  such  a  lie  on  me.  And  that  if  he  said  it 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  31 

to  my  face,  one  of  us  would  have  to  die.  I  said  this  in 
a  loud  angry  tone  so  that  the  mob  in  the  hall  could 
hear  me. 

Gordon  said :  "I  believe,  Anderson,  you  are  telling  the 
truth.  But  keep  cool,  and  I'll  put  you  face  to  face  with 
the  man." 

We  then  walked  into  the  hall  and  Gordon  called  the 
young  man.  As  he  stepped  up  I  asked  if  he  had  lied 
about  me.  The  result  was  the  poor  fellow  weakened  and 
said  he  could  have  been  mistaken,  but  the  man  who  en 
tered  Mrs.  Scase's  looked  like  me,  but  it  being  dark,  he 
might  have  been  mistaken. 

That  settled  it  for  the  night,  but  next  day  the  mob  be 
came  drunk  and  unruly  and  were  determined  to  hang  me 
as  a  spy.  It  would  require  too  much  space  to  give  the 
details.  The  result  was  that  through  hard  lying  I  saved 
my  neck  and  was  promoted.  Sheriff  Dyke  made  me  one 
of  his  special  deputies  at  $4.00  a  day,  as  long  as  I  could 
remain.  This  money  came  in  handy  and  it  was  all 
"velvet,"  that  is,  belonged  to  me  individually. 

Two  days  later,  after  being  appointed  deputy  sheriff, 
I  saved  the  lives  of  the  county  commissioners,  the 
county  judge  and  Attorney  Russell,  who,  by  the  way, 
has  since  served  as  district  judge  of  that  district,  and  at 
the  present  writing,  so  I  am  told,  is  still  an  honored  citi 
zen  of  that  county. 

A  plot  had  been  planned  for  both  sides  to  stack  all 
the  fire  arms  and  leave  two  men  from  each  side  to  guard 
them.  Then  a  meeting  of  the  commissioners  could  sit  in 
the  court  house.  The  scheme  was  to  have  some  rifles 
cached  and  make  a  raid  on  the  fire  arms  and  their  guards. 
Then  the  slaughter  was  to  begin. 


32 

All  the  county  officials  with  the  exception  of  Bendito 
Martinez  had  agreed  to  the  plan.  All  were  trying  to  get 
Martinez's  consent.  He  finally  caught  my  eye  and  I 
shook  my  head — as  much  as  to  say  don't  do  it.  That 
settled  it.  He  stood  pat  and  the  plot  fell  through. 

I  have  heard  it  said  that  a  Mexican  can't  take  a  hint, 
but  Martinez  caught  a  hint  in  a  very  light  shake  of  my 
head.  Poor  fellow,  he  soon  afterwards  shot  a  man  dead 
in  the  Durango  court  room,  which  broke  him  up  finan 
cially,  though  I  hear  he  is  getting  on  his  feet  again. 

After  holding  the  county  officials  and  their  armed 
escort  at  bay  for  about  four  days,  peace  was  declared  by 
the  leaders  of  the  revolutionists  being  promised  an  even 
division  of  the  political  pie  in  future.  Then  the  commis 
sioners  held  their  meeting  and  all  departed  for  New 
Mexico. 

The  blood  of  the  insurgents  had  cooled  off  as  the 
liquors  in  Bowland's  saloon  diminished,  hence  peace  was 
declared  under  a  flag  of  truce — a  woman's  white  apron. 

For  the  next  six  weeks  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  play 
outlaw  and  eat  Mrs.  Taylor's  good  cooking.  Whenever 
suspicious  strangers  appeared  in  town  Sheriff  Dyke 
would  have  me  keep  hid  out  until  he  could  learn  their 
business,  for  fear  they  might  be  Texas  officers  on  my 
trail. 

Often  I  would  be  the  sole  occupant  of  the  Taylor  resi 
dence  and  at  such  times  I  would  read  Mr.  Taylor's 
private  political  letters.  His  old  love  letters  would  be 
laid  to  one  side.  I  had  secured  a  key  that  fitted  his 
private  desk. 

There  were  piles  of  political  letters  and  receipts  for 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  33 

votes  bought  during  past  elections.  The  ruling  price  of 
votes  was  two  dollars  in  cash  or  one  sheep.  Most  of  the 
interesting  political  letters  were  from  Billy  Adams, 
brother  of  the  twice  governor  of  Colorado,  Alva  Adams. 
From  these  letters  I  learned  many  new  lessons  in  up-to- 
date  western  politics. 

I  appeared  before  the  grand  jury  in  the  adjoining 
county  of  La  Plata,  at  Durango,  the  judge  of  the  court 
being  Chas.  D.  Hayt,  and  the  prosecuting  attorney,  G.  T. 
Summer,  with  the  result  that  sixteen  of  the  leaders  in  the 
uprising  were  indicted. 

I  then  disposed  of  my  horse  and  saddle  and  "sneaked" 
to  an  eastbound  train  for  Denver. 

I  had  been  on  the  operation  about  two  months  and 
during  that  time  I  dared  not  write  reports  or  letters  to  my 
wife,  nor  receive  mail  from  Denver,  as  the  postoffice  at 
Pagosa  Springs  was  in  the  hands  of  the  insurgents.  I 
had  used  the  name  of  Chas.  Anderson  on  this  operation. 

Arriving  in  Denver,  I  was  hurried  away  to  the  Re 
public  of  Mexico  to  run  down  an  A.,  T.  &  S.  F.  Ry. 
brakeman  who  had  stolen  $10,000  from  the  Wells-Fargo 
Express  Company  at  La  Junta,  Colorado,  during  the  ex 
citement  of  a  train  wreck. 

A  ride  of  700  miles  on  the  Atchison,  Topeka  &  Santa 
Fe  Railway  brought  me  to  El  Paso,  Texas,  and  another 
1,200  miles  on  the  Mexican  Central  Railway  brought  me 
to  the  City  of  Mexico. 

On  arriving  there  the  first  thing  I  did  was  to  write  a 

nice  letter  to  my  friend  Taylor  in  Pagosa  Springs,  telling 

him  that  I  had  got  a  telegram  from  my  brother  in  Texas 

warning  me  to  skip,  as  the  grand  jury  had  found  a  true 

3 


34  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

bill  against  me  for  murder,  and  that  I  intended  to  remain 
in  the  City  of  Mexico  a  month  or  so  until  my  brother 
could  get  money  to  me ;  then  I  was  going  to  lose  myself 
in  the  wilds  of  South  America.  My  address  in  the  City 
of  Mexico  under  a  new  assumed  name  was  given  to  Mr. 
Taylor,  and  in  the  course  of  three  weeks  I  received  a  nice 
long  letter  from  him.  He  told  me  that  the  grand  jury 
in  Colorado  had  indicted  him,  Sheriff  Dyke  and  fourteen 
of  the  other  leaders,  for  running  the  county  officials  out 
of  Archuleta  county  and  burning  their  property.  He  said 
that  they  were  all  then  under  heavy  bond,  and  on  account 
of  the  mysterious  way  in  which  I  left,  they  had  laid  their 
downfall  on  to  my  giving  them  away  before  the  grand 
jury ;  that  they  were  mad  enough  to  murder  me  if  I  could 
have  been  found;  that  I  only  had  one  friend  in  Pagosa 
Springs  who  stuck  up  for  me  to  the  last  and  refused  to 
believe  me  guilty,  and  that  was  his  wife.  He  said  that 
this  showed  how  a  woman  could  be  a  true  friend  when 
once  her  mind  is  made  up.  He  assured  me  that  no  matter 
to  what  part  of  the  earth  I  might  drift,  I  could  count  on 
having  true  friends  in  Pagosa  Springs,  and  that  any  time 
I  should  need  money  or  help,  to  write  him.  I  have  never 
seen  any  of  the  Archuleta  county  warriors  since  leaving 
there,  hence  I  do  not  know  whether  I  am  regarded  as  an 
outlaw  yet  or  not.  I  see  by  the  papers  that  Taylor  still 
lives  in  Pagosa  Springs,  which  has  grown  to  be  an  im 
portant  railroad  town,  and  that  he  is  judge  of  the  court 
there. 

In  dismissing  the  Archuleta  county  uprising,  I  wish  to 
state  that  these  men  had  good  cause  for  revolting,  as 
politics  in  that  county  were  rotten.  Most  of  them  were 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  35 

honorable  citizens,  though  a  little  rough  and  wild.  Of 
course,  I  felt  "sore"  at  them  for  wanting  to  hang  me  up 
by  the  neck. 

I  shall  always  hold  my  friend  Gordon  G.  as  one  of  the 
"true  blue"  sons  of  the  Lone  Star  State,  as  he  knows 
how  to  stick  to  a  friend. 

A  few  nights  after  my  arrival  in  Mexico  City,  a  big 
earthquake  shook  up  the  city.  It  shook  the  Guadaola 
Hotel  where  I  had  a  room  on  the  fourth  floor,  from  stem 
to  stern.  Many  people  in  the  city,  according  to  reports, 
had  been  killed.  The  next  morning  the  streets  were  still 
lined  with  natives  praying. 

A  few  days  later  the  big  day  of  the  Republic,  the  Fifth 
of  May,  was  celebrated,  and  I  then  saw  my  first  bull  fight, 
and  I  never  want  to  witness  another.  If  ever  Uncle  Sam 
should  want  a  good  soldier  to  help  wipe  Mexico  off  the 
face  of  the  earth  or  make  her  promise  to  quit  her  cold 
blooded  cruelties  to  dumb  animals,  he  can  count  on  me 
and  I  will  gladly  furnish  my  own  ammunition.  They 
pitted  three  bulls  imported  from  Spain  against  four  native 
bulls.  The  ones  from  Spain  were  artists  when  it  came 
to  butchering  horses.  If  they  had  killed  a  few  of  the 
ignorant  and  cruel  Mexicans  who  were  riding  the  poor 
beasts  up  to  be  gored  to  death,  they  would  have  won  my 
applause.  One  horse  was  sewed  up  six  times  and  each 
time  ridden  back  to  be  gored  again,  until  finally  killed 
by  the  bull.  It  was  enough  to  disgust  a  Piute  Indian,  and 
still  men,  women  and  little  children  went  wild  and  shouted 
for  joy  at  the  sight  of  blood  and  the  suffering  of  the  dumb 
brutes. 

To  show   what  a  great  head  I've  got  for  avoiding 


36  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

danger,  I  will  cite  a  little  instance.  A  Mexican  National 
Railway  engineer,  whose  arm  was  in  a  sling,  having  been 
injured  in  a  recent  wreck,  was  out  with  me  to  see  the 
sights.  We  visited  the  noted  Church  of  Guadalupe, 
which  is  saTd  to  have  been  built  by  Montezuma  in  memory 
of  the  angel  Guadalupe.  After  going  through  the  church 
and  seeing  the  "scrape"  (blanket),  which  this  angel  saint 
wore  on  her  flying  trip  from  heaven  to  Mexico  City,  we 
climbed  the  hill  to  the  graveyard  where  all  the  noted 
warriors  are  buried.  It  covers  a  couple  of  acres  and  a 
guard  with  a  rifle  and  sword  is  kept  on  duty  night  and 
day. 

On  coming  to  old  General  Santa  Ana's  grave,  I  thought 
of  poor  Davy  Crockett  and  his  brave  followers  who  met 
their  fate  in  the  Alamo  at  San  Antonio,  Texas,  through 
the  inhuman  blood-craving  of  this  same  old  general.  The 
earth  mound  where  he  sleeps  was  plastered  over  with  all 
kinds  of  fancy,  many-colored  pieces  of  broken  china- 
ware.  One  particularly  pretty  piece  took  my  eye  and  I 
told  the  engineer  that  it  would  be  in  my  cabinet  of  curios 
even  if  it  should  cost  me  a  leg.  The  engineer  said  it 
would  mean  possible  death  or  a  long  term  in  a  Mexican 
dungeon  if  I  were  caught  stealing  from  this  "heap  big 
chief's"  grave,  but  when  he  found  that  I  was  determined 
to  risk  a  fight  to  a  finish  with  this  copper-colored  son  of 
old  Montezuma,  he  agreed  to  assist  me  by  steering  the 
watchman  away  to  another  part  of  the  graveyard  and 
keeping  his  back  towards  me  by  asking  him  questions 
about  the  city  which  lay  at  our  feet  in  plain  view.  The 
guard  stood  in  sight  with  the  seat  of  his  white  cotton 
pants  towards  me  when  I  and  old  Colt's  45  climbed  over 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  37 

the  sharp-pointed,  tall  iron  pickets  and  secured  the  prize. 
We  wondered  if  Davy  Crockett  turned  over  in  his  grave 
to  smile. 

When  a  cowboy,  and  on  a  tear,  we  used  to  often  in 
fun  get  up  on  the  bar  and  yell:  "I'm  a  wolf,  and  to 
night  is  my  night  to  howl.  I've  got  two  rows  of  teeth, 
one  for  ransacking  graveyards  and  the  other  for  devour 
ing  human  beings."  Little  did  I  dream  then  that  in 
years  to  come  I  would  ransack  old  Santa  Ana's  grave 
just  to  satisfy  a  greedy  desire  for  a  pretty  relic  and  to 
break  the  slow  monotony  of  a  peaceful  life. 

Much  of  my  time  was  spent  with  Supt.  Daniel  Turner 
and  his  assistants  in  the  Wells-Fargo  office.  They  had 
just  gone  through  a  siege  of  fool  Mexican  law.  They 
had  all  been  held  prisoners  in  their  own  offices  over  a 
peeled  duck — that  is,  a  duck  with  the  feathers  off. 

A  few  hundred  miles  north,  as  a  passenger  train  was 
fixing  to  pull  out  for  the  capital,  a  Mexican  came  run 
ning  up  to  the  Wells-Fargo  agent  with  a  duck  in  his 
hand.  He  demanded  that  it  be  expressed  to  his  friend  in 
Mexico  City.  This  the  agent  said  was  impossible,  as  his 
duckship  had  to  be  billed  out  in  regular  form  and  now 
the  train  was  ready  to  start.  The  result  was  the  train 
pulled  out  leaving  Mr.  Mexican  and  his  duck  on  the 
station  platform.  But  he  had  his  revenge  as  soon  as  he 
could  reach  the  office  of  the  Alcalde  and  make  complaint. 
For  a  week  or  two  the  agent  lay  in  a  dungeon  and  Supt. 
Turner  and  his  assistants  dare  not  venture  on  the  streets, 
as  the  place  was  surrounded  by  guards  day  and  night. 
For  a  week  Mr.  Turner  and  his  men  had  to  eat  and  sleep 
in  the  office  on  account  of  the  measly  little  duck,  for  the 


38  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

law  prohibited  the  officers  from  going  inside  the  house 
to  arrest  them. 

I  had  located  my  man  who  had  stolen  the  $10,000. 
He  was  living  under  an  assumed  name,  but  he  was  free 
from  arrest  while  on  Mexican  soil,  so  for  that  reason  I 
had  to  keep  track  of  him  until  he  left  Mexico.  This 
suited  me,  as  it  allowed  me  a  month  or  two  to  see  the 
sights  and  to  have  a  good  time. 

The  thief  invested  some  of  the  stolen  money  in  dia 
monds.  I  kept  track  of  the  purchases.  Finally  he  got 
ready  to  sail  from  Vera  Cruz  on  a  steamship  for  Havana, 
Cuba,  thence  to  New  York  City,  and  by  rail  to  his  home 
in  Leavenworth,  Kansas.  I  was  all  ready  to  go  with  him 
on  the  ship  and  thereby  see  Cuba  and  the  City  of  New 
York,  but  word  came  that  yellow  fever  had  broken  out 
in  Havana,  and  our  trip  was  abandoned.  However,  we 
started  for  the  United  States  by  way  of  El  Paso,  Texas. 
I  remained  with  my  man  until  he  reached  his  home  in 
Leavenworth,  then  had  him  arrested,  and  I  departed  for 
Denver,  reaching  there  after  an  absence  of  about  two 
months.  Being  so  busy  and  constantly  on  the  jump,  I 
never  went  to  the  trouble  to  find  out  how  many  years  in 
the  penitentiary  my  friend  received. 

After  only  a  few  days  spent  with  Mamie  and  Viola,  I 
had  to  "hit"  the  road  again,  this  time  for  Roseta,  a  min 
ing  camp  in  Custer  county,  Colorado,  to  capture  the 
world  renowned  Bassick  mine. 

Four  of  us  operatives,  John  Rucker,  who  had  traveled 
with  Barnum's  circus  as  a  Dickenson  man  for  years,  a 
fellow  by  the  name  of  Goods,  a  Frenchman  with  a 
name  as  long  as  my  arm,  and  myself,  started  armed  to 


39 

the  teeth  with  Winchester  rifles,  pistols  and  playing 
cards. 

At  Canon  City  we  left  the  railroad  and  drove  over  the 
Greenhorn  range  of  mountains  in  a  vehicle  loaded  with 
ammunition  and  grub  to  stand  a  long  siege.  A  drive  of 
twenty  miles  or  more  brought  us  to  the  top  of  a  mountain 
overlooking  the  great  Bassick  mine  and  the  little  village 
of  Quereda  nestling  at  its  feet.  A  mile  further  was  the 
town  of  Roseta,  noted  for  its  tough  men  and  the  bloody 
local  battles  fought  in  the  early  history  of  Colorado 
mining.  Eight  miles  to  the  west  lay  the  prosperous 
mining  camp  of  Silver  Cliff,  and  the  railroad  town  of 
West  Cliff. 

During  the  night  we  moved  down  the  hill  and  entered 
the  large  Bassick  hoisting  works  by  breaking  in  a  rear 
window.  The  custodian,  a  Kentucky  colonel  and  ex- 
sheriff  of  Custer  county  whose  name  was  Schofield,  was 
at  his  home  in  Quereda,  a  few  hundred  yards  down  the 
mountain  side,  asleep. 

In  law,  possession  is  nine  points  to  the  good,  therefore, 
we  had  gained  the  points  aimed  at  for  our  client,  Mr. 
David  Bryan,  the  Minnesota  millionaire;  but  the  ques 
tion  was  could  we  hold  it  in  the  face  of  the  great  ddds 
which  Schofield  could  muster. 

We  sat  up  all  night  and  next  morning  when  Schofield 
unlocked  the  big  front  door  of  the  hoisting  works,  as 
was  his  custom  as  paid  custodian  for  Bassick  and  his 
associates,  we  threw  our  rifles  down  on  him  and  made 
him  go  away  and  leave  the  door  open.  He  had  a  pistol 
but  made  no  effort  to  draw  it,  his  surprise  being  so  great. 
After  he  had  climbed  down  off  the  high  platform  in  front 


40  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

of  the  door,  he  was  in  the  main  street  of  Quereda.  Across 
the  street  was  the  postoffice  and  a  couple  of  stores,  the 
remaining  buildings  being  vacant.  Finally  Schofield  re 
covered  from  his  surprise  and  demanded  to  know  what  we 
meant.  We  laughed  and  told  him  that  we  had  merely 
captured  his  job  from  him  while  he  slept.  He  swore  that 
he  would  dispossess  us  if  it  cost  all  the  blood  in  Roseta. 
He  then  got  on  a  horse  and  galloped  over  the  hill  to 
that  town.  Anticipating  that  the  men  of  Roseta  would 
open  war  on  us,  our  superintendent  had  sent  his  trusted 
bookkeeper,  Lawton,  to  Roseta  a  few  days  previous,  so 
as  to  post  us  of  impending  danger.  That  night  a  little 
after  midnight,  our  man  Lawton  slipped  up  to  a  rear 
window  of  the  hoist  and  called  for  us.  He  was  too 
badly  frightened  to  come  in.  He  gave  a  note  to  one  of 
our  men  and  then  began  "hitting"  the  high  places  over 
the  mountains  for  Canon  City.  The  note  read  about  as 
follows:  "Boys,  run  for  your  lives.  Don't  wait.  300 
armed  men,  many  of  them  drunk  and  desperate  are  now 
on  the  way  from  Roseta  under  the  leadership  of  Scho 
field  to  kill  you  and  take  possession  of  the  mine.  I  am 
off  for  Canon  City.  Follow  me  quick,  beforfe  it  is  too 
late." 

We  held  a  hurried  council  of  war  and  decided  to  stand 
"pat"  and  die  fighting  "all  same"  the  noted  heroes  under 
Davy  Crockett  at  the  Alamo.  "Frenchy"  was  the  only 
man  who  looked  pale  and  he  wondered  what  would  be 
come  of  his  wife  if  he  were  .killed. 

Stationing  ourselves  at  upper  story  windows  from 
whence  the  little  valley  towards  Roseta  and  the  side  of 
the  mountain  towards  Canon  City  could  be  scanned,  we 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  41 

awaited  results  with  rifles  ready.  Soon  the  moon  came 
out,  but  she  had  no  blood  on  her  face.  I  told  "Frenchy" 
that  this  was  considered  a  good  sign  during  war  times. 

About  3  o'clock  we  heard  fierce  yelling  over  the  hill 
towards  Roseta.  Soon,  by  the  bright  light  of  the  moon, 
we  saw  a  dark  mass  of  something  creeping  over  the  crest 
of  the  hill,  a  distance  of  half  a  mile  or  more.  The  yell 
ing  still  continued.  On  drawing  nearer  we  discovered  the 
black  mass  to  be  men.  When  within  about  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  of  us  the  one  hundred  to  two  hundred  men  stopped 
and  collected  into  a  solid  round  bunch — holding  a  con 
sultation  preparatory  to  making  the  final  charge,  thought 
we.  The  yelling  had  ceased.  In  a  few  moments  the  men 
began  to  string  out  again  towards  us.  We  could  see  that 
many  carried  rifles  or  shotguns,  and  many  were  stagger 
ing  as  though  loaded  with  "booze."  The  yelling  had  be 
gun  again.  Soon  all  stopped  and  we  could  hear  loud 
cursing  as  though  they  were  fighting  among  themselves. 
At  last,  to  our  great  delight,  all  but  two  men  started  back 
towards  Roseta.  The  two  staggered  on  to  Schofield's 
house  and  disappeared  inside.  One  of  them  was  Scho- 
field.  Next  day  we  heard  through  the  postmistress,  a 
young  lady  from  Chillicothe,  Mo.,  that  the  mob  broke  up 
in  a  drunken  row.  Thus  ended  my  second  bloodless  war 
within  a  space  of  four  months. 

The  Rocky  Mountain  Daily  Neivs  of  Denver  gave  the 
following  account  of  our  arrival : 

"LAWLESSNESS  AT  SILVER  CLIFF. 

SILVER  CLIFF,  COLO.,  June  21,  1887. 

This  community  was  convulsed  with  excitement  last  evening 
about  6  o'clock,  on  receipt  of  news  that  the  Bassick  mine  had 


42  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

been  captured  by  an  armed  force  of  men  from  abroad.  Nothing 
definite  could  be  gleaned  until  this  morning,  when  it  was  learned 
that  four  men  armed  with  Winchesters  marched  at  once  to  the 
mine,  broke  in  the  doors  of  the  old  and  new  works  and  took 
possession.  They  are  strangers  and  have  ammunition  and  pro 
vision  for  a  long  siege.  It  has  been  ascertained  that  they  are 
under  orders  from  President  Brown  of  the  Bassick  Mining  Com 
pany." 

In  a  few  days  Mr.  Chas.  Handsell,  of  the  Denver  law 
firm  of  Mathewson,  Thornes  &  Handsell,  came  to  the 
Bassick  mine  to  see  how  we  were  getting  along.  As 
there  was  some  wild  talk  by  Schofield  and  his  friends 
about  ousting  us,  Mr.  Handsell  hired  two  fighting  men 
in  Silver  Cliff  to  assist  us. 

In  the  course  of  a  week  or  so  matters  quieted  down  and 
all  were  called  off  the  job  but  Rucker  and  me.  After  this 
Schofield,  who  had  been  drowning  his  trouble  in  drink, 
made  friends  with  Rucker  and  me,  but  we  wouldn't  allow 
him  to  loaf  with  us  on  our  front  porch — the  platform  in 
front  of  the  hoist.  He  had  to  stand  on  the  ground  and 
hand  the  bottle  up  for  us  to  drink  out  of.  He  thought 
this  wasn't  treating  him  right  after  he  had  buried  the 
hatchet.  Then,  too,  we  always  made  him  drink  out  of 
the  bottle  first,  so  if  there  was  poison  in  it  he  would 
die  too. 

Soon  after  this,  Schofield  put  up  a  slick  Kentucky  job 
on  me,  but  it  failed  to  work.  It  was  Texas  against  Ken 
tucky,  and  the  Lone  Star  State  won  with  hands  down. 

One  evening  about  dark,  Schofield  came  to  our  front 
porch  with  only  one  good  drink  in  his  bottle,  but  he  said 
there  was  a  demijohn  full  of  the  same  kind  of  stuff  in 
his  cellar,  and  that  if  I  would  go  with  him  he  would  give 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  f^43 

me  a  quart  bottle  full.  I  went,  and  on  starting  down  the 
cellar  steps  at  his  residence,  they  being  on  the  outside  of 
the  house,  he  stepped  to  one  side  to  let  me  go  down  first 
but  I  balked.  He  then  went  ahead  and  on  passing  through 
the  inner  door  he  stepped  to  one  side  to  let  me  pass. 
Here  I  suggested  that  he  keep  in  the  middle  of  the  road 
and  in  front.  He  then  went  to  the  opposite  side  of  the 
cellar  and  rilled  the  bottle  from  a  jug,  then  gave  me  a 
drink  and  I  backed  out  of  the  door  and  up  the  steps. 
Next  day  a  friend  told  us  that  Schefield  had  failed  to 
trap  me  in  his  cellar.  He  said  the  inner  door  had  been 
arranged  with  a  spring  lock  so  that  he  could  stand  out 
side  and  pull  the  door  shut,  leaving  me  a  prisoner  inside ; 
that  then  it  was  arranged  to  capture  Rucker  and  take 
possession  of  the  mine. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  weeks  the  court  appointed  a 
custodian  to  take  charge  of  the  mine.  Then  Rucker  and 
I  left  for  Denver,  and  shortly  after  Rucker  returned  to 
the  New  York  Branch  of  the  Dickenson  agency,  where 
he  still  hangs  out. 


CHAPTER  III 

To  WHITE  RIVER  AS  AN  OUTLAW — THE  UTE  INDIAN 
WAR — RIDING  AND  ROPING  UNDER  NAME  OF  "DULL 
KNIFE"  AT  A  DENVER  COWBOY  TOURNAMENT — OFF 
FOR  WYOMING  AS  AN  OUTLAW. 

A  rest  of  a  few  days  in  Denver,  and  Supt.  A in 
structed  me  to  get  ready  for  a  trip  among  the  Ute  Indians 
who  were  then  reported  to  be  on  the  warpath. 

It  was  the  fall  of  1887.  .  The  work  was  to  be  done  for 
a  wealthy  widow  by  the  name  of  Mrs.  Tice.  She 

and  a  Mr.  C owned  a  small  cattle  ranch  in  western 

Colorado.  She  suspicioned  that  she  was  being  robbed  by 
their  foreman  and  her  partner.  So,  for  there  I  started  out 
in  my  cowboy  rigging. 

In  Rifle,  on  Grande  River,  I  left  the  Denver  &  Rio 
Grande  train  and  on  the  upper  deck  of  a  civilized  pony 
I  started  north  over  the  mountains  for  Meeker,  on  White 
River.  A  moderate  ride  of  a  day  and  a  half  brought  me 
to  the  town  made  famous  by  the  "Meeker  Massacre." 
On  my  arrival  in  Meeker  the  excitement  of  a  late  Indian 
war  had  subsided.  A  week  or  ten  days  previous,  a  battle 
had  been  fought  on  the  head  of  White  River,  a  day's  ride 
from  Meeker,  and  on  leaving  Denver  I  was  instructed  to 
investigate  this  battle  for  an  official  of  the  U.  S.  Govern 
ment,  after  finishing  the  cattle  operation. 

From  Meeker,  a  day's  ride  down  the  river  brought  me 
to  the  cattle  ranch  owned  by  Mrs.  Tice  and  C.  With  the 

44 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  45 

foreman  and  cowboys  I  played  myself  off  as  an  outlaw 
Texan,  and  by  being  an  expert  with  a  lasso  I  soon  won 
their  friendship. 

In  the  course  of  two  weeks  I  had  secured  sufficient 
evidence  to  show  that  our  friend,  Mrs.  Tice,  was  being 
robbed. 

I  then  returned  to  Meeker  and  from  there  went  to  the 
head  of  White  River  to  investigate  the  killing  of  some 
Ute  Indians  by  the  sheriff  and  a  crowd  of  ranchmen. 

Before  leaving  Meeker  I  wrote  a  letter  to  Mr.  Geo.  L. 
Golding,  of  Denver,  asking  that  my  name  be  put  on  the 
list  of  wild-horse  riders  and  steer  ropers,  in  the  grand 
Cowboy  Tournament  soon  to  take  place.  I  signed  myself 
"Dull  Knife,"  with  Meeker  as  my  home,  so  that  no  one 
would  know  me. 

The  name  "Dull  Knife"  was  selected  on  account  of  it 
once  having  been  my  nickname  on  the  cattle  ranges  of 
Texas.  It  was  given  to  me  by  cowboy  companions  who 
were  in  the  habit  of  borrowing  my  pearl-handled  bowie 
knife,  and  always  finding  it  dull,  from  having  killed  so 
many  rattle  snakes.  Through  years  of  practice  I  had  be 
come  an  expert  in  throwing  the  knife  from  my  horse's 
back.  By  holding  the  point  between  my  thumb  and  fore 
finger  I  would  throw  it  at  the  snake's  neck  and  seldom 
failed  to  pin  his  snakeship  to  the  earth  by  burying  the 
blade  through  his  neck  or  head  into  the  ground.  Often 
the  blade  would  sever  the  snake's  head  from  his  body. 
Of  course  the  knife  was  kept  dull  from  being  stuck  into 
the  earth  so  often. 

On  the  head  of  White  River  I  visited  the  few  ranchmen 
and  hunters  and  was  shown  the  battle  ground  where  the 


46  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Ute  Indians  were  murdered  by  the  blood-thirsty  Whites. 
From  what  I  could  learn  from  eyewitnesses,  it  was  cold 
blooded  murder.  The  fight  was  started  by  the  long- 
legged,  wild  and  woolly  sheriff  of  Garfield  County,  who 
soon  after  absconded  with  the  county's  funds.  The 
excitement  of  the  "Great  Indian  Uprising"  caused  the 
militia  to  be  called  out,  and  made  fat  pocket-books  for 
the  ranchers  who  had  horses,  hay  and  grain  for  sale. 
Besides,  the  sheriff  lined  his  pockets  with  free  silver  at 
the  county's  expense. 

This  was  my  first  peep  behind  the  curtain  of  a  great 
Indian  war,  as  illustrated  by  glaring  headlines  in  the  daily 
press.  We  wondered  who  are  the  real  savages,  the 
Whites  or  the  Reds. 

On  leaving  the  head  of  White  River  for  Denver,  I  con 
cluded  to  take  a  short  cut  across  the  Flattop  mountains,  a 
distance  of  sixty  miles  between  ranches. 

The  start  was  made  from  the  cabin  of  a  hunter  at  the 
head  of  White  River.  From  him  I  had  bought  an  ex 
traordinary  fine  pair  of  elk  horns.  These  I  undertook 
to  carry  on  my  pony  by  holding  them  up  in  front  of  me 
with  the  skull  resting  on  the  saddle-horn.  In  traveling 
that  lonely  sixty  mile  stretch  over  the  old  Ute  Indian 
trail,  I  had  plenty  of  leisure  to  ponder  over  that  wise  say 
ing:  "What  fools  these  mortals  be." 

Crossing  the  "Flattops"  I  saw  more  deer  than  I  ever 
expect  to  see  again.  There  were  hundreds  of  them  in 
sight  at  all  times  and  they  were  very  tame.  Often  they 
would  stand  by  the  side  of  the  trail  and  allow  me  to  pass 
within  fifty  paces  of  them.  I  saw  one  herd  of  elk,  but 
they  ran  into  the  heavy  timber  near  by  before  I  could  get 


47 

out  my  Winchester  rifle  and  shoot.  I  would  have  fol 
lowed  on  their  trail,  as  I  had  never  killed  an  elk,  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  the  pair  of  elk  horns.  I  pitched  camp 
about  sundown  and  killed  a  fat  buck  for  supper.  I  had 
brought  with  me  some  salt  and  cold  biscuits.  The  veni 
son  was  broiled  on  a  stick  over  the  fire. 

By  daylight  next  morning  the  horns  and  I  headed 
south.  We  got  off  on  the  wrong  trail  and  were  lost  part 
of  the  day,  but  by  hard  swearing  and  a  little  patience  we 
managed  to  get  down  over  the  rim-rock  of  the  "Flattops" 
into  the  Grand  Valley  about  half  way  between  Newcastle 
and  Glemvood  Springs.  On  the  road  in  the  valley  a  boy 
leading  a  bronco  overtook  us.  The  boy  was  persuaded  to 
allow  me  to  make  a  pack-horse  out  of  his  bronco,  so  Mr. 
"bronc"  was  blindfolded  and  the  horns  put  astride  of  his 
back.  When  securely  fastened  with  a  rope  the  blind  was 
raised  and  Hades  broke  loose.  The  bronco  began  bucking 
and  running  and  the  rope  which  was  fastened  to  the  horn 
of  my  saddle  broke.  Then  the  horns  had  a  swift  ride  for 
quite  a  distance,  but  as  the  run  was  made  towards  Glen- 
wood  Springs  no  time  was  lost.  The  boy  and  I  caught  the 
bronco  after  he  had  become  exhausted.  Then  the  horns 
were  strapped  onto  my  civilized  pony  and  I  rode  the  un 
civilized  brute.  It  was  long  after  dark  when  we  landed 
in  Glenwood  Springs.  Next  day  the  horns  were  crated 
and  expressed  to  Denver,  and  after  selling  my  pony  and 
saddle  I  took  passage  on  the  same  train  with  the  antlers. 

On  my  arrival  in  Denver  I  secured  permission  from  my 
superintendent  to  enter  the  Cowboy  Tournament  at  River 
Side  Park.  It  was  to  take  place  in  a  couple  of  days  and 
I  had  no  time  to  lose. 


£8  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

After  making  a  search  of  all  the  livery  stables  in  the 
city  I  finally  found  a  small  white  cow-pony  which  I 
thought  would  answer  my  purpose.  He  was  quick  and 
active,  but  too  light  in  weight  for  such  work.  I  also 
secured  an  old  Texas  saddle,  as  I  couldn't  get  used  to 
the  high  horn  kind  in  use  by  northern  cowboys.  This 
old  Texas  saddle  was  the  cause  of  my  losing  the  steer 
roping  prize,  as  the  horn  flew  off  when  the  weight  of  the 
steer  and  pony  went  against  it.  I  feel  confident  that  I 
would  have  won  the  prize,  as  the  best  time  made  was 
many  seconds  slower  than  the  time  made  by  me  at  a  Cald- 
well,  Kansas,  fair  several  years  previous,  at  which  time  I 
won  a  silver  cup;  and  in  the  Kansas  contest  I  lost 
valuable  time  by  having  to  throw  the  steer  twice. 

In  the  wild-horse  riding  contest  luck  was  also  against 
me.  After  throwing  the  big  bay  bronco  in  quick  time,  I 
sprang  off  the  white  pony  onto  the  bronco's  head.  Then 
to  prevent  him  from  choking  to  death,  I  cut  the  rope, 
knowing  that  he  was  in  my  power  with  both  my  knees  on 
his  neck  and  a  good  hand  hold  on  his  nose.  But  when  I 
reached  for  the  hackamore  (a  cowboy  halter)  and 
the  leather  blind  which  had  been  carried  under  my  pistol 
belt,  I  found  they  were  gone.  They  had  slipped  out  from 
under  the  belt  when  I  leaped  out  of  the  saddle.  I  saw 
them  lying  on  the  ground  just  out  of  my  reach.  Accord 
ing  to  the  rules,  no  one  could  hand  them  to  me,  therefore 
I  could  do  nothing  but  free  the  bronco  and  lose  my 
chance  at  the  prize.  In  reporting  the  matter  the  news 
paper  reporters  had  failed  to  comprehend  my  situation: 
They  were  green  and  didn't  know  why  I  held  the  strug 
gling  bronco  by  the  nose  for  several  minutes  before  turn- 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  49 

ing  him  loose.  Of  course  my  cowboy  opponents  realized 
the  cause  of  my  predicament  and  cheered  with  joy,  as  it 
made  their  chances  of  winning  more  secure.  I  had  been 
told  that  they  feared  the  "dark  horse,"  "Dull  Knife," 
from  Meeker,  and  had  made  much  inquiry  as  to  my 
identity. 

This  is  what  two  of  the  leading  daily  papers  of  the 
city — The  Rocky  Mountain  News  and  the  Republican — 
had  to  say  about  "Dull  Knife"  the  next  morning.  One 
paper  stated: 

"None  knew  who  the  next  man  was  who  rode  out  on  a  white 
pony.  They  called  him  Dull  Knife,  and  he  was  from  Meeker. 
That  was  all  the  information  obtainable.  But  Dull  Knife  was  a 
daisy.  With  new  white  sombrero,  Mexican  saddle,  leather-fringed 
chaparejos,  flaming  red  'kerchief,  belt  and  pearl  handled  revolver 
and  knife,  he  was  all  that  the  eastern  imagination  of  the  typical 
cowboy  could  picture.  As  a  bronco  breaker,  however,  he  wasn't 
a  brilliant  success.  A  bay  was  pointed  out  to  him  and  away  they 
flew.  It  didn't  take  that  cunning  bay  bronco  more  than  a  minute 
to  find  out  that  he  was  wanted.  With  all  the  natural  cussedness 
of  his  breed  it  didn't  take  him  more  than  a  second  to  determine 
that  he  would  fool  somebody.  Dashing  here  and  there,  with 
flashing  eyes  and  streaming  main  and  tail,  the  animal  was  a  pretty 
picture.  The  white  pony  was  too  cunning  for  him  though,  and 
soon  put  his  rider  in  a  position  where  the  rope  could  be  thrown 
and  the  arched  neck  caught  in  the  running  loop.  The  captive 
was  thrown  by  twining  the  rope  around  his  limbs  and  then  Dull 
Knife  made  a  skillful  move.  He  cut  the  rope  loose  and  held  the 
struggling  animal  by  the  nose.  But  while  he  was  subduing  the 
horse,  the  man  had  gotten  too  far  away  from  his  saddle  and 
couldn't  get  back  to  it.  The  judges  at  length  called  time  and 
the  pretty  bay  was  free." 

The  other  paper  gave  this  account : 

"When  Dull  Knife  rode  in  armed  with  pearl-handled  pistol 
and  knife,  a  gold  embroidered  Mexican  sombrero  on  his  head 
4 


so 

and  mounted  on  a  beautiful,  quick-reined,  white  pony,  he  was 
such  a  perfect  and  graceful  type  of  a  Texas  cowboy  that  the 
audience  gave  one  spontaneous  Ah-h-h!  of  admiration.  The 
little  white  was  a  daisy  and  ran  up  on  Dull  Knife's  bronco  easy. 
Dull  Knife  was  the  only  man  this  day  to  rope  and  throw  his 
bronco  on  horseback.  But  the  rope  had  fouled  in  the  bronco's 
mane,  and  it  was  choking  to  death,  so  Dull  Knife  cut  the  rope, 
mercifully,  freed  the  bronco  and  lost  his  time  to  ride.  Dull 
Knife  assayed  roping  and  tying,  but  luck  was  against  him.  The 
horn  of  his  light  Texas  saddle  broke  off  close  to  the  fork.  Re 
gaining  his  rope  he  tied  it  in  the  forks  of  his  saddle  and  tried 
it  again,  but  his  beautiful  little  cut  horse  was  too  light  and  tried 
to  hold  the  big  burly  steer  which  dragged  it  all  over  the  corral, 
so  Dull  Knife,  chafing  with  chagrin,  had  to  give  in  to  hard  luck 
and  call  it  a  draw. 

"Dull  Knife  and  E.  A.  Shaeffer  next  stretched  a  steer  in 
quick  time." 

Several  days  after  the  tournament  George  Golding  and 
Mr.  B.  G.  Webster,  while  riding  in  a  buggy,  happened  to 
see  me  on  the  street.  Hailing  me  as  "Dull  Knife"  they 
called  me  to  them.  They  said  they  had  been  trying  to 
find  me  but  no  one  knew  who  "Dull  Knife"  was  or  where 
a  letter  would  reach  him.  I  was  then  informed  that  the 
judges  had  voted  me  $15.00  for  skillful  cowboy  perform 
ance  and  that  a  check  for  that  amount  awaited  me  at 
headquarters.  Of  course  I  went  after  the  check  and  still 
retain  it  as  a  relic,  as  it  states  that  it  was  presented  to 
"Dull  Knife"  for  skillful  cowboy  work. 

For  many  years  afterwards,  and  even  up  to  the  present 
time,  I  meet  men  who  call  me  "Dull  Knife,"  from  having 
seen  me  at  this  Cowboy  Tournament.  It  was  several 
years  after,  before  Geo.  Golding — who  is  still  proprietor 
of  the  City  Sale  Yards  and  Stables,  and  has  since  served 
as  Denver's  Chief  of  Police — learned  of  my  identity. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  51 

In  the  course  of  a  week  or  two  Mrs.  Tice  brought  suit 
in  a  Denver  Court  to  annul  her  partnership  with  Mr. 

C or  for  damages,  I  have  forgotten  which.  I  was 

the  star  witness,  and  on  the  strength  of  my  testimony  as 
to  the  way  cattle  were  being  stolen,  Mrs.  Tice  won.  The 
foreman  and  one  of  his  cowboys  who  were  present  in 
court,  were  surprised  on  finding  that  I  was  a  detective 
instead  of  an  outlaw. 

A  few  days  after  ending  Mrs.  Tice's  case  I  was  off 
for  Wyoming  as  a  cowboy  outlaw. 

Kalter  Skoll,  the  Cheyenne,  Wyoming,  attorney,  who 
has  lately  won  fame  through  the  conviction  and  execu 
tion  of  Tim  Corn,  the  stock  detective,  had  written  my 
superintendent  to  send  him  a  cowboy  detective  who  could 
make  friends  with  a  gang  of  tough  characters  on  the 
Laramie  River. 

Before  starting,  my  superintendent  informed  me  that  I 
was  going  up  against  a  hard  proposition,  as  Gen.  Dave 
Cook,  head  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  Detective  Agency, 
had  sent  three  of  his  men  up  into  Wyoming  to  get  in  with 
this  gang,  but  had  failed,  they  being  on  the  lookout  for 
detectives,  hence  wouldn't  allow  strangers  to  enter  their 
camp. 

On  my  arrival  in  Cheyenne  I  called  on  District  At 
torney  Skoll.  He  explained  the  case  on  which  I  was  to 
work.  He  told  how  Bill  McCoy  had  shot  and  killed 
Deputy  Sheriff  Gun»  in  Lusk,  Wyoming,  and  of  McCoy 
being  sentenced  to  hang  for  the  crime,  but  that  he  broke 
jail  in  Cheyenne  just  before  he  was  to  be  executed,  and 
was  trailed  up  to  the  Keeline  ranch,  which  was  run  by 
Tom  Hall,  a  Texas  outlaw  and  his  gang  of  cowboys,  who 


52  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

were  supposed  to  be  ex-convicts  from  Texas.  He  felt 
sure  that  McCoy  was  in  hiding  at  the  Keeline  ranch,  but 
he  said  it  would  be  a  difficult  matter  to  get  in  with  them 
as  they  were  on  their  guard  against  officers  and  detectives. 

I  boarded  the  Cheyenne  northern  train  and  went  north 
to  its  then  terminus.  There  I  bought  a  horse  and  saddle 
and  struck  out,  ostensibly  for  Fort  Douglas,  about  100 
miles  north. 

The  second  day  out  I  stopped  for  dinner  at  "Round  Up 
No.  5  Saloon."  This  place  was  run  by  Howard,  an  ex- 
policeman  and  saloon  keeper  from  Cheyenne.  His  wife 
was  an  ex-prize  fighter  and  dance  hall  "girl"  during  the 
palmy  days  of  the  Black  Hill  excitement  in  Cheyenne. 
She  was  now  getting  old,  but  could  still  hide  large  quanti 
ties  of  liquor  under  her  belt.  After  dinner  I  proceeded 
to  get  drunk  so  as  to  kill  time.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Howard 
drank  with  me.  In  telling  of  my  past  I  told  just  enough 
to  lead  them  to  believe  that  I  was  a  Texas  outlaw  headed 
for  the  north. 

About  4  p.  M.  I  saddled  my  horse  and  made  a  start  for 
Fort  Douglas,  but  on  shaking  hands  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Howard,  they  being  the  only  people  beside  myself  present, 
and  bidding  them  goodby,  they  persuaded  me  to  have  one 
more  drink  at  their  expense.  Then,  of  course,  I  had  to 
treat  before  making  another  start.  This  program  was 
kept  up  for  half  an  hour. 

I  had  never  mentioned  the  Keeline  ranch,  which  I 
knew  lay  over  a  small  range  of  mountains  five  miles  east. 
As  winter  had  set  in,  there  was  very  little  travel  on  this 
Fort  Douglas  road,  and  the  cowboys  had  all  gone  into 
winter  quarters.  Howard  depended  on  the  summer  cattle 


53 

round-ups  for  his  business.  He  said  he  and  his  wife 
merely  existed  during  the  winter  seasons.  His  saloon 
was  located  at  No.  5  round-up  grounds. 

Finally,  I  mounted  and  made  another  start,  pretending 
to  be  drunker  than  I  really  was.  As  I  rode  off,  Howard 
wished  me  well.  Checking  up  my  horse  I  remarked  that 
I  would  be  all  right  if  I  could  run  across  some  Texas 
boys  up  at  Douglas.  Then  I  asked  if  he  knew  of  any 
Texas  boys  in  that  part  of  the  country.  He  replied: 
"There  are  several  Texas  fellers  not  far  from  here,  but 
they  are  in  trouble  and  won't  let  strangers  into  their 
camp."  At  this  I  wheeled  my  horse  around  and  rode 
back.  I  asked  where  they  could  be  found.  He  replied: 
"No  use  going  there,  for  they  would  run  you  off  and 
perhaps  kill  you.  The  officers  have  been  trying  to  get 
detectives  in  with  them.  They  swear  they  will  kill  the 
next that  looks  suspicious." 

I  answered:  "If  they  are  from  Texas  I'm  not  afraid 
of  them.  Just  tell  me  where  they  are  and  I'll  take  chances 
on  the  killing  part." 

He  pointed  out  a  bridle  path  around  a  high  peak  and 
said  I  would  find  their  camp  on  the  other  side  of  this  on 
the  edge  of  a  clump  of  cottonwood  timber.  We  then 
went  into  the  saloon  and  had  two  more  drinks  and  I 
bought  a  quart  of  his  best  whiskey,  which  was  the  same 
as  his  worst,  though  labeled  differently. 

I  explained  that  the  boys  could  drink  with  me  and  then 
run  me  off  if  they  wanted  to;  but  Howard  plead  with 
me  not  to  go. 

On  mounting  I  buried  the  spurs  into  my  horse's  flanks 
and  gave  a  cowboy  yell  and  away  we  flew  through  the 


54  'A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

heavy  grove  of  cottonwood  timber.  There  was  no  trail, 
and  my  horse  had  to  jump  fallen  logs  and  trees  and  I 
dodged  projecting  limbs.  I  wanted  to  prove  to  Howard 
that  I  was  a  reckless  cowboy  who  had  no  fear  of  danger. 
Looking  back  I  saw  Howard  and  his  wife  watching  me. 
The  saloon  was  finally  lost  to  view  and  then  I  rode 
slowly  and  began  to  lay  plans,  though  it  was  quite  an 
effort  as  the  whiskey  had  gone  to  my  head. 

Howard  had  told  me  that  there  were  fourteen  men  at 
the  Keeline  ranch,  but  he  wouldn't  tell  me  what  kind  of 
trouble  they  were  in. 

On  reaching  the  foot  of  the  high  peak  I  struck  the 
bridle  trail  which  had  been  pointed  out.  This  I  followed 
over  the  range.  When  on  the  opposite  side,  my  horse 
was  made  to  gallop  in  the  most  dangerous  places,  for  I 
figured  that  my  horses'  tracks  would  be  examined.  In  a 
rocky  place  where  the  trail  went  around  a  point  and 
where  a  horse  on  a  gallop  could  hardly  keep  his  feet, 
I  stopped.  Here  I  knew  the  horse's  tracks  couldn't  be 
seen.  At  this  point  I  got  above  the  horse  and  gave  him 
a  shove  over  the  rocky  bluff.  He  landed  on  his  side  in 
the  soft  sand  in  the  dry  arroyo,  twenty  feet  below.  The 
fall  knocked  the  wind  out  of  him,  but  he  soon  recovered 
and  jumped  to  his  feet.  I  held  one  end  of  the  rope  so 
that  he  couldn't  get  away.  The  impression  of  the  horse 
and  saddle  showed  plainly  in  the  sand.  Climbing  down 
on  the  rocks  I  fell  on  my  left  side,  leaving  the  impression 
of  my  body  in  the  sand  where  it  would  have  been  had  I 
fallen  with  the  horse.  I  then  jumped  up,  and  dragging 
my  crippled  left  leg  through  the  sand,  led  the  horse  to  a 
place  where  we  could  get  back  to  the  trail.  Here  I  pulled 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  55 

off  my  left  boot  and  ripped  the  seam  of  my  pants'  leg 
nearly  to  the  knee.  Then  I  rolled  the  knit  woolen 
drawer's  leg  up  above  the  knee.  This  made  a  tight  roll 
which  checked  the  flow  of  blood,  causing  the  knee  to 
become  red.  It  also  had  a  tendency  to  shove  the  flesh 
downward  and  make  the  knee  look  swollen.  I  then 
rubbed  the  knee  with  dry  grass  and  poured  some  of 
Howard's  "rattle-snake  juice"  on.  After  tying  the  left 
boot  to  the  saddle  I  mounted  and  headed  for  the  large 
grove  of  cottonwood  timber  on  the  bank  of  the  Laramie 
River. 

Just  after  the  sun  had  set  I  came  in  sight  of  a  group 
of  log  houses  on  the  edge  of  the  grove.  Not  a  breath  of 
air  was  stirring  and  a  column  of  smoke  from  a  chimney 
pierced  the  lead-colored  clouds  above.  I  was  riding 
slowly  across  an  open  flat.  Soon  I  saw  a  man  come  out 
of  the  large  log  house.  Then  others  followed  until  there 
were  about  a  dozen  lined  up  against  the  yard  fence.  I 
wondered  what  kind  of  a  game  I  was  running  up  against 
and  where  it  would  end.  It  was  a  case  of  forward 
march,  with  me,  even  though  it  led  to  death  "all  same," 
a  fool  soldier  who  marches  up  to  the  cannon  mouth  to 
have  his  head  shot  off  so  that  posterity  can  weep  and 
plant  flowers  on  his  grave. 

As  I  drew  near  my  body  reeled  as  though  drunk.  My 
left  leg  was  kept  stiff  and  out  of  the  stirrup.  When 
within  sixty  paces  of  the  yard  gate  where  all  the  men 
stood,  a  fine  looking  six-footer,  who  proved  to  be  the 

boss,  Tom  Hall,  asked:  "What  in  the  h are  you 

doing  here?"  I  replied  that  my  leg  was  broken  and  I 
needed  some  help.  Hall  sprang  out  of  the  gate  and  run- 


56  'A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

ning  up  to  me  asked  in  a  soft,  sympathetic  voice,  how  it 
happened.  There  was  a  wonderful  change  in  his  looks 
as  well  as  voice,  when  he  found  I  was  crippled. 

Soon  the  whole  gang,  all  heavily  armed,  were  around 
me  and  I  was  taken  off  the  horse  and  carried  into  the 
house  where  I  was  seated  before  a  blazing  log  fire  in  the 
large  fire-place.  Then  Hall  got  down  on  his  knees  be 
fore  me  to  examine  the  wound.  I  took  pains  to  roll  up 
the  pants'  leg  which  was  only  ripped  part  way  to  the 
knee,  so  as  to  hide  the  roll  of  knit  drawers,  this  being 
the  secret  of  my  swollen  knee.  I  had  previously  been 
shot  with  a  large  caliber  bullet  through  this  knee,  and 
there  was  a  large  scar  where  the  bullet  entered,  and  an 
other  on  the  opposite  side  where  it  was  cut  out  by  the 
doctor.  This  helped  to  brand  me  as  an  outlaw  in  their 
minds. 

After  pressing  the  swollen  flesh  with  his  hand,  Hall 
asked  me  to  move  my  toes.  I  did  so,  as  I  didn't  want 
the  leg  to  appear  broken  for  fear  they  might  haul  me 
off  to  a  doctor.  On  moving  my  toes  he  said  my  leg 
was  not  broken.  I  asked  how  he  could  tell  by  the  moving 
of  the  toes,  and  he  explained.  Then  he  asked  me  to  bend 
my  knee  and  also  to  twist  it  around,  but  this  I  couldn't 
do  on  account  of  the  pain.  He  decided  that  my  leg  was 
badly  sprained  or  out  of  joint.  He  ordered  hot  water 
and  a  towel  brought  and  my  knee  was  bathed  and  the 
hot  towel  bound  around  it.  Then  he  demanded  an  ex 
planation  as  to  how  I  came  to  leave  the  Douglas  road  to 
visit  them.  I  explained  matters  fully,  and  told  the  place 
where  my  horse  fell  over  the  bluff.  He  asked  why  I  left 
Texas  to  come  up  to  such  a  cold  country  so  late  in  the 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  57 

season.  With  a  smile  I  told  him  that  the  people  of  Texas 
tried  to  get  me  to  stay,  and  even  followed  me  to  Red 
River  on  the  Indian  Territory  border;  in  hopes  of  over 
taking  me  so  as  to  compel  me  to  stay.  This  caused  a 
laugh,  as  it  meant  that  officers  of  the  law  had  chased  me 
to  the  State  line. 

Here  I  looked  over  towards  a  sullen,  dark  com- 
plexioned  young  man  whom  I  had  recognized  as  Jim 
McChesney,  a  boy  raised  in  Southern  Texas,  and  I  asked 
him  what  he  had  done  with  his  old  sweetheart  Matilda 
Labaugh.  He  was  surprised  and  asked  who  -in  the 

h I  was,  that  I  should  know  he  courted  Matilda 

Labaugh  over  twenty  years  previous.  I  wouldn't  tell 
him,  but  did  say  that  he  could  call  me  Charlie  Henderson. 
He  then  asked  if  I  knew  his  name.  I  told  him,  yes,  that 
it  ought  to  be  Jim  McChesney.  This  was  another  surprise, 
and  he  wanted  to  know  when  I  left  the  part  of  Texas 
where  Matilda  had  lived.  I  told  him  that  I  pulled  out 
one  night  in  1872  when  a  boy,  but  that  I  had  slipped 
back  to  see  my  friends  many  times  since  then.  His  face 
brightened,  and  walking  up  to  me  he  shook  my  hand, 
saying:  "I  know  you."  Then  he  whispered  in  my  ear 
and  asked  if  I  wasn't  one  of  the  Pumphry  boys.  I  told 
him  that  my  name  was  Henderson  now.  I  had  chosen 
the  year  1872,  for  at  that  time  two  of  the  Pumphry  boys, 
mere  children,  had  committed  murder  and  left  the 
country.  McChesney  felt  sure  that  I  was  one  of  these 
boys,  and  that  suited  me. 

Finally,  all  left  the  room  to  hold  a  consultation.  Two 
men  were  dispatched  with  a  lantern  to  examine  the  place 
where  I  said  my  horse  had  fallen  over  the  bluff,  and  to 


58  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

ride  to  Howard's  saloon  to  find  out  if  I  had  told  the 
truth.  Another  man  was  sent  in  haste  to  a  small  ranch 
three  miles  down  the  river,  after  some  linament.  Supper 
was  then  brought  in  and  set  before  me.  In  the  course 
of  an  hour  and  a  half  the  man  returned  with  the  linament 
and  Hall  applied  it  to  the  supposed  wound,  and  he  bound 
up  the  knee  so  tight  with  bandages  that  it  pained,  but 
the  tight  bandages  did  good  in  preventing  me  from 
thoughtlessly  bending  my  leg  and  thereby  giving  myself 
away. 

About  10  o'clock  the  two  "boys"  returned  from 
Howard's.  Then  all  went  outside  and  held  a  long  con 
sultation.  Next  day  Jim  McChesney  told  me  confidential 
ly  that  Howard  had  confirmed  the  truthfulness  of  my  story 
and  had  told  of  the  reckless  manner  in  which  I  had  run 
through  the  woods.  He  said  he  was  not  surprised  at 
hearing  of  my  being  hurt,  that  he  expected  to  see  me 
killed  before  I  got  out  of  his  sight. 

Several  days  later  McChesney  told  me  of  their  long 
council  of  war,  after  the  two  "boys"  had  returned  from 
Howard's.  He  said  most  of  the  "boys,"  especially  the 
three  escaped  convicts  from  the  penitentiary  in  Hunts- 
ville,  Texas,  were  afraid  that  I  might  be  a  detective  and 
insisted  that  I  be  taken  out  to  a  tree  and  hung  up  by  the 
neck,  just  to  frighten  me  into  a  confession  in  case  I  was 
a  detective ;  but  said  he  and  Tom  Hall  argued  against  it 
as  they  felt  confident  that  I  was  all  right.  Hall  argued 
that  it  would  be  a  shame  to  take  advantage  of  a  poor 
crippled  man.  He  said  if  I  was  a  detective  that  I  couldn't 
help  from  showing  it  before  many  days  and  then  I  could 
be  hung  for  "keeps." 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  59 

All  the  men  slept  on  camp  beds  spread  on  the  floor, 
except  Hall.  He  had  a  private  room  cut  off  from  a  cor 
ner  of  the  kitchen,  and  in  it  he  had  a  single  bedstead. 
This  he  kindly  turned  over  to  me  and  he  slept  with  one 
of  the  "boys"  on  the  floor. 

It  was  after  I  o'clock  A  M.  when  I  went  to  bed,  as  I 
pretended  that  my  leg  was  paining  so  that  I  could  not 
sleep,  any  way.  After  being  put  to  bed  by  Hall  I  took 
off  the  bandages  from  my  leg  so  that  I  could  rest  my 
knee  by  bending  it.  I  retired  with  my  Colt's  45  pistol 
in  the  shoulder  scabbard  under  my  overshirt,  and  my 
bowie  knife  was  swung  to  my  waist  by  a  small  belt  under 
my  drawers.  Therefore  no  one  had  seen  my  gun  and 
knife.  The  cartridge  belt  containing  my  supply  of 
ammunition  was  in  my  "war-bag,"  and  this  I  put  under 
my  head.  I  slept  very  little  during  the  night.  Before 
daylight  next  morning,  I  fastened  the  bandages  back  on 
my  leg  so  as  to  keep  it  stiff  while  hobbling  about  the 
house.  After  breakfast,  Hall  and  McChesney  made  me 
a  pair  of  crutches. 

A  few  of  the  "boys"  seemed  suspicious  of  me,  especially 
Johnny  Franklin,  a  bowlegged  Texan,  who  had  escaped 
from  the  penitentiary  in  that  State,  so  McChesney  told 
me. 

During  the  day  Hall  played  "foxy"  and  tried  to  find 
out  more  about  me.  In  speaking  of  Texas  cowboys  he 
asked  if  I  ever  knew  Bill  Gatlin.  I  told  him  yes,  that 
I  had  worked  with  him  in  the  Panhandle  country  until 
he  got  into  trouble  and  had  to  skip  and  change  his  name 
again.  I  told  him  that  Bill  Gatlin  was  a  name  he  had 
adopted  after  coming  to  northern  Texas.  These  were 


60  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

facts,  as  I  had  known  Gatlin  well,  but  I  never  dreamed 
that  he  was  the  Bill  McCoy  I  was  now  trying  to  locate. 

A  few  days  later,  after  I  had  convinced  Hall  that  I 
was  all  right  and  was  really  acquainted  with  Gatlin  and 
many  of  his  Texas  friends,  he  confided  in  me  and  told 
me  how  Bill  Gatlin,  under  the  name  of  Bill  McCoy,  had 
killed  Deputy  Sheriff  Gunn,  and  was  sentenced  to  hang, 
and  that  he  (Hall)  and  others  paid  a  slick  jail  breaker 
from  the  East  $500  to  commit  a  petty  crime  in  Cheyenne 
so  as  to  be  put  in  jail.  The  result  was  that  he  sawed 
the  bars  and  liberated  McCoy  and  the  other  prisoners. 
A  horse  was  kept  in  hiding  for  McCoy  and  he  came  direct 
to  the  Keeline  ranch  where  they  had  kept  him  hid  out 
in  the  hills  until  a  few  days  before  my  arrival,  when  he 
was  mounted  on  Hall's  pet  roan  race-horse  and  skipped 
for  New  Orleans,  there  to  take  a  sailing  vessel  for  Buenos 
Ayres,  South  America.  For  a  pack  animal  McCoy  used 
a  large-hoofed  bay  horse  that  he  had  stolen  from  the 
sheriff's  posse  who  were  searching  for  him.  Later,  Hall 
and  McChesney  told  many  incidents  of  how  they  had 
fooled  the  sheriff's  posse  of  100  men  who  were  scouring 
the  hills  for  McCoy. 

A  week  later  we  all  rode  40  miles  to  attend  a  dance  at 
John  Owens'  ranch,  a  mile  above  the  "Hog  ranch"  (a 
tough  saloon  and  sporting  house)  at  Fort  Laramie.  I 
was  still  walking  on  crutches,  therefore  couldn't  dance. 
The  crutches  were  tied  to  my  saddle  en  route.  Late  at 
night  when  the  "boys"  were  pretty  well  loaded  with  liquor 
I  rode  to  Fort  Laramie  and  secured  a  room  at  the  hotel 
where  my  first  reports  were  written.  About  daylight 
my  reports  were  mailed  to  Denver,  and  then  I  rode  back 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  61 

to  the  dance.  The  crowd  had  simmered  down  to  just  a 
few  ladies  and  many  drunken  cowboys  who  kept  the  air 
outside  full  of  smoke  from  their  revolvers.  My  friends, 
McChesney  and  Franklin,  were  the  worst.  I  finally 
succeeded  in  getting  my  drunken  friends  into  a  room 
to  lay  down,  but  McChesney  raised  such  a  racket  break 
ing  the  windows  and  furniture  with  his  pistol,  that  we 
had  to  abandon  sleep  and  start  back  to  the  Keeline  ranch. 
As  I  was  sober,  it  fell  to  my  lot  to  get  them  all  on  their 
horses  and  headed  for  home. 

Hall  and  the  cook  had  not  come  with  us. 

A  supply  of  whiskey  was  taken  along,  and  my  life 
was  made  miserable  keeping  the  men  from  fighting.  To 
prevent  McChesney  from  killing  some  one,  I  slipped  the 
cartridges  out  of  his  pistol  without  letting  him  know  it. 
Soon  after  this,  McChesney  and  one  of  the  "boys"  got 
into  a  fuss  while  riding  along,  and  McChesney  pulled 
his  pistol  and  began  snapping  it  at  the  fellow,  who  pulled 
his  loaded  pistol  and  would  have  killed  McChesney  if  I 
hadn't  shoved  my  cocked  revolver  into  his  face  just  in 
time.  I  made  him  ride  on  ahead  while  I  kept  McChesney 
behind  with  me.  We  arrived  at  the  Keeline  ranch  before 
night,  and  were  a  hungry,  sleepy  crowd. 

Our  next  excitement  came  a  few  days  later,  when 
Howard  came  running  over  on  horseback  one  evening  to 
tell  us  that  his  wife  was  dying.  He  had  left  her  alone 
while  he  came  after  help.  All  of  us,  Hall  and  the  cook 
included,  rode  over  to  Howard's  and  spent  the  night. 
What  happened  would  have  made  angels  weep.  Howard 
turned  the  saloon  over  to  us  and  the  liquor  was  free. 
Whiskey  was  poured  down  the  poor  woman's  throat  up 


62  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

to  the  last  breath.  She  died  before  midnight  and  then 
the  "Irish  wake"  began  in  dead  earnest.  Poor  Howard, 
a  large  fine-looking,  middle-age  man,  cried  as  though  his 
heart  would  break.  Between  drinks  he  "harked  back"  to 
the  time  when  he  first  met  the  corpse.  Then  he  was  on 
the  police  force  of  Cheyenne,  and  she  was  a  beautiful 
young  woman  who  made  a  living  by  boxing  and  singing 
on  the  saloon  stages. 

Until  morning,  whiskey  and  wine  flowed  like  water, 
and  my  friend  McChesney  was  in  clover.  Cowboy  songs, 
both  nice  and  vulgar,  were  sung  over  the  corpse.  Tom 
Hall  was  the  champion  singer  of  the  crowd. 

Next  day  the  body  was  put  in  a  rough  box  and  lowered 
to  its  last  resting  place  amid  the  drinking  of  toasts  and 
the  singing  of  "There's  a  land  that  beats  this  all  to 

h 1,  etc."  One  of  the  songs  which  was  sung  at  the 

burial  amused  me.  It  ran  thus : 

"Oh,  see  the  train  go  'round  the  bend, 

Goodby,  my  lover,  goodby; 
She's  loaded  down  with  Dickenson    men, 
Goodby,  my  lover,  goodby." 

When  we  took  our  departure  the  Howard  saloon  looked 
like  a  cyclone  had  struck  it.  The  walls  were  shot  full  of 
holes  and  the  liquors  were  gone.  Howard  left  for 
Cheyenne  when  he  sobered  up.  Of  course,  I  didn't  have 
as  much  fun  as  the  rest,  owing  to  the  fact  that  I  had  to 
use  one  crutch. 

With  Mrs  Howard  under  the  sod  "Calamity  Jane"  had 
the  field  to  herself.  These  two  women  were  noted  charac 
ters  in  that  part  of  Wyoming. 

Finally  my  crutch  was  discarded  and  we  made  another 
forty-mile  ride  to  a  dance  at  Fort  Laramie.  This  time  I 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  63 

danced,  and  pretended  to  fall  in  love  with  a  young  lady 
who  lived  at  the  terminus  of  the  Cheyenne  Northern 
Railway.  I  wanted  to  make  the  excuse  of  riding  over  to 
the  railroad  station  to  see  this  girl  when  my  work  was 
finished  at  the  Keeline  ranch. 

Reports  were  written,  and  much  liquor  destroyed,  the 
same  as  on  our  previous  trip. 

Soon  after,  Hall  received  a  letter  from  Bill  McCoy 
in  New  Orleans.  He  was  ready  to  sail  for  South 
America.  Hall  had  given  him  a  letter  of  introduction  to 
a  dentist  in  Buenos  Ayres,  South  America.  This  answered 
the  purpose  of  a  passport  into  a  tough  gang  of  outlaws 
in  the  cattle  country  1200  miles  from  this  seaport,  Buenos 
Ayres.  Hall  showed  me  letters  from  one  of  the  gang 
there.  His  name  was  Moore  and  he  was  a  Texas  mur 
derer.  He  wrote  that  they  were  over  100  strong,  and 
that  double  their  number  of  officers  couldn't  [come  in 
there  and  arrest  them. 

Hall  had  been  reared  at  Austin,  Texas,  and  had  to 
skip  out  and  change  his  name  on  account  of  a  killing. 
He  also  told  me  of  his  ups  and  downs  in  New  Mexico 
when  he  was  a  chum  to  the  noted  outlaw,  Joe  Fowler, 
who  was  hung  by  a  mob  at  Socorro,  New  Mexico.  He 
told  how  Fowler,  after  killing  one  of  his  own  cowboys 
in  Socorro,  had  placed  the  $50,000  received  for  his 
cattle  and  ranch  to  the  credit  of  his  sweetheart,  Belle, 
and  that  on  the  day  when  the  mob  was  collecting  to  hang 
Fowler  that  night,  Belle  drew  $10,000  out  of  the  bank 
and  turned  it  over  to  him  (Hall)  so  that  he  could  bribe 
the  jailer  and  liberate  Fowler.  Hall  said  he  had  the 
jailor  "fixed"  but  when  the  time  for  liberating  Fowler 


Came,  the  mob  was  collecting  and  the  jailer  backed  out 
for  fear  they  would  hang  him,  if  Fowler  was  gone.  Then 
Hall  said  he  hit  the  "high  places"  and  came  North.  I 
didn't  ask  if  he  brought  the  $10,000  with  him,  but  took 
it  for  granted  that  he  did. 

It  happened  that  I  was  already  familiar  with  Joe 
Fowler's  crimes.  He  murdered  Jim  Greathouse,  who 
was  a  friend  of  mine,  and  at  White  Oaks,  New  Mexico,  in 
1880,  I  knew  of  his  murdering  a  cowboy  whom  he  had 
never  seen  before.  Two  cowboys  had  a  pistol  duel  in  Bill 
Hudgen's  Pioneer  Saloon.  One  of  them  was  mortally 
wounded  when  Fowler,  who  had  heard  the  shooting,  came 
running  in.  He  asked  the  cause  of  the  shooting.  Some 
one  pointed  to  the  wounded  cowboy  on  the  floor.  Then 
Fowler  pulled  out  his  pistol  and  shot  him  through  the 
head.  The  other  cowboy  was  caught  and  hung  to  a  tree 
by  Fowler  and  his  gang,  and  by  the  rope  route  Fowler's 
life  was  ended. 

Finally,  I  struck  out  from  the  Keeline  ranch  to  see 
my  girl  at  the  railroad  station.  There  my  horse  and 
saddle  were  sold  and  I  boarded  the  train  for  Cheyenne. 

The  Grand  Jury  were  in  session  and  I  appeared  before 
them  as  a  witness.  Hall  and  his  gang  were  indicted. 
The  sheriff  and  a  large  posse  surrounded  the  Keeline 
ranch  at  daylight  one  morning,  and  the  Hall  gang  were 
arrested.  I  was  told  that  Hall  remarked  when  arrested : 

"That Henderson  is  at  the  bottom  of  this."  The 

fact  that  I  did  not  come  back  had  created  a  suspicion. 

They  were  all  landed  in  jail  at  Cheyenne  and  I  felt 
sorry  for  them,  especially  for  Hall  and  McChesney.  My 
sympathy  was  overflowing  for  Hall  because  he  is  a  prince, 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  65 

and  has  a  heart  in  him  like  an  ox.  The  sympathy  for 
McChesney  was  on  account  of  having  known  him  when  a 
boy,  and  having  known  his  father  in  Caldwell,  Kansas, 
years  later. 

I  lay  in  Denver  waiting  to  be  called  as  a  witness  against 
Hall  and  his  gang.  But  before  the  case  was  tried, 
District  Attorney  Skoll,  who  at  that  time  was  trying  to 
get  away  with  all  the  liquor  in  Cheyenne,  had  a  row  with 
the  judge  on  the  bench,  McGinnis,  and  the  cases  were 
nolle  pressed  by  Skoll.  At  least,  this  is  the  story  told 
by  my  superintendent,  who  was  in  Cheyenne  at  the  time. 
Thus  my  friends  were  liberated  to  my  great  joy,  as  I 
didn't  want  to  see  them  sent  to  the  pen.  I  heard  after 
wards  that  three  of  the  escaped  convicts  from  Texas 
were  returned  there,  but  as  to  its  truthfulness  I  do  not 
know. 


CHAPTER  IV 

IN  JAIL  WITH  DENVER  &  Rio  GRANDE  HOLD-UPS — 
ASPEN  ORE-STEALING  CASE — TESTING  RAILROAD 
CONDUCTORS — THE  MUDSILL  MINE-SALTING  CASE — 

IN  LONGMONT  AS  A  BRONCO-BUSTER — IN  THE  BULL- 

PEN  WITH  HOBOES. 

My  next  operation  out  of  the  city  was  a  train  robbery 
case  upon  the  Denver  &  Rio  Grande  Railroad.  Doc. 
Shores,  the  popular  sheriff  of  Gunnison  County, 
Colorado,  had  charge  of  the  case.  He  and  I  went  to  a 
town  in  northwestern  Kansas,  Cawker  City.  Doc.  Shores 
remained  until  I  went  twenty  or  thirty  miles  out  in  the 
country  to  work  for  a  farmer  by  the  name  of  Smith. 

The  train  had  been  held  up  by  three  men,  two  of 
whom  were  supposed  to  be  the  Smith  brothers,  sons  of 
this  old  farmer.  The  hold-up  occurred  near  Green  River 
Station  in  western  Colorado,  and  the  Smith  boys  were 
seen  in  the  neighborhood  under  suspicious  circumstances, 
just  before  the  hold-up. 

Farmer  Smith  had  a  pretty  black-eyed  daughter  and  I 
made  love  to  her,  as  well  as  figuring  on  buying  his  farm. 
The  girl  showed  me  a  letter  from  her  brothers,  written 
and  mailed  in  Price,  Utah,  after  the  hold-up,  showing  that 
they  were  in  hiding  in  that  neighborhood.  In  the  letter 
they  stated  they  were  going  to  a  certain  town  in  Arizona 
soon.  I  also  saw  photos  of  the  Smith  brothers  and  se 
cured  their  descriptions.  Then  my  heart  grew  cold  for 

66 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  67 

this  pretty  maiden  and  I  "hiked"  back  to  join  Mr.  Shores. 
He  at  once  wired  his  brother-in-law,  Roe  Allison,  who 
was  his  under-sheriff,  to  search  around  Price,  Utah,  for 
the  Smiths,  as  their  letter  had  been  mailed  there. 

We  then  started  for  Denver.  There  we  boarded  a  9 
p.  M.  Denver  &  Rio  Grande  train  for  the  line  of  Colorado 
and  Utah  to  take  up  the  trail.  After  retiring  in  the 
sleeper,  Shores  received  a  telegram  from  Roe  Allison  at 
Green  River,  saying  that  they  had  captured  the  Smith 
brothers  and  Rhodes,  and  would  meet  our  train  with 
the  prisoners  at  Montrose.  After  dark  next  evening 
our  train  arrived  in  Montrose  ahead  of  the  east- 
bound  train  containing  the  prisoners.  Shores  and  I  held 
a  consultation  and  decided  that  the  best  plan  was  for  him 
to  put  his  hand-cuffs  and  leg-irons  on  me  and  pretend 
that  I  was  a  desperate  character  whom  he  had  captured 
up  the  Gunnison  River  that  day. 

When  the  train  pulled  into  the  depot  I  was  taken 
aboard  and  placed  in  a  seat  near  the  other  prisoners.  I 
acted  sullen  all  the  way  to  Gunnison,  where  we  arrived 
about  10  A.  M.  The  whole  town  of  Gunnison  turned  out 
to  see  the  desperate  prisoners.  We  were  marched  with 
our  leg-irons  on  through  the  streets  to  the  Court  House 
and  jail,  a  distance  of  half  a  mi4e.  The  snow  was  over 
a  foot  deep  and  the  sidewalks  were  lined  with  people, 
so  that  we  had  to  walk  in  the  street  single  file.  I  brought 
up  the  rear  and  gave  the  people  some  hard  contemptuous 
glances.  Mr.  Shores  told  me  afterwards  that  several 
people  said  I  was  the  toughest  looking  criminal  in  the 
bunch. 

All  four  of  us  were  shoved  into  a  steel  cage  just  large 


68 

enough  for  us  to  lie  down  in.  We  were  given  a  few 
greasy  quilts  and  blankets  and  our  meals  were  put  into 
the  cage.  There  were  no  other  prisoners  in  the  jail  and 
it  was  my  wish  that  we  be  kept  in  close  confinement  for 
a  day  or  two,  as  confessions  can  be  secured  much  easier 
in  that  way. 

Shores  had  been  sheriff  of  this  county  for  three  terms 
and  had  his  residence  over  the  jail  in  the  second  story. 
Owing  to  my  being  a  prisoner  Mrs.  Shores  saw  that  we 
were  well  fed.  She  often  brought  the  meals  herself. 

Our  cell  was  still  spattered  with  human  blood,  where 
a  short  time  previous  a  man  had  cut  his  throat  from  ear 
to  ear,  in  the  presence  of  an  officer  who  was  unlocking 
the  cell  to  take  the  fellow  into  court.  After  cutting  his 
throat  he  laid  the  knife  carefully  on  a  shelf  and  shaking 
his  fist  at  the  officer  fell  over  dead.  Shores  told  us  this 
story  when  we  asked  about  the  blood.  We  also  learned 
that  this  cell  had  been  the  home  of  the  man-eater,  Alfred 
Packard,  who  had  killed  and  eaten  the  choice  parts  of 
five  men.  He  had  been  taken  to  the  penitentiary  for 
life  a  few  years  previous. 

My  three  bedfellows  were  a  dirty  lot  and  were  alive 
with  vermin,  as  they  had  been  in  hiding  on  an  island  in 
Green  River  for  several  weeks.  And  one  of  the  Smiths 
had  a  bullet  wound  through  the  head,  which  gave  out  an 
odor  that  put  on  the  finishing  touch  to  the  already  foul 
air  in  the  cell.  Smith  had  received  the  wound  in  a  fight 
among  themselves ;  at  least  that  was  their  story. 

After  a  few  days  of  solitary  confinement  I  secured  a 
full  confession  of  how  the  train  was  held  up,  and  they 
told  how  up  to  the  time  of  their  arrest,  they  had  remained 
in  hiding  on  an  island  in  Green  River. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  69 

After  being  in  jail  two  weeks  I  was  taken  out  by  a 
supposed  officer  from  Wyoming,  who  was  taking  me 
there  to  be  executed  for  murder. 

I  had  confided  in  my  companions,  telling  them  of  break 
ing  out  of  Wyoming  jail  after  being  sentenced  to  hang. 
The  "boys"  really  shed  tears  when  I  shook  hands  with 
them  previous  to  being  hand-cuffed  to  the  officer. 

I  didn't  have  to  appear  as  a  witness  against  these  men, 
as  they  confessed  to  the  train  hold-up  after  they  were 
convinced  that  Shores  had  a  "cinch"  lease  against  them. 
They  were  each  sentenced  to  a  term  of  seven  years  in  the 
Colorado  penitentiary. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  a  lasting  and  warm  friend 
ship  between  C.  W.  Shores,  his  lovely  wife,  two  bright 
sons  and  me. 

Soon  after  my  return  home,  a  "Frenzied  Finance" 
cyclone  of  small  calibre  struck  our  Agency  in  Denver 
and  knocked  Superintendent  A.  sky  high.  Mr.  W.  L. 
Dickenson  came  out  from  Chicago  and  discharged  him 
and  all  his  pets.  Mr.  Dickenson  had  at  last  discovered 
that  his  Agency  was  being  robbed.  Superintendent 
A.  had  become  so  bold  in  his  high  finance  that  he 
started  a  patrol  system  to  furnish  merchants  and  others 
with  private  policemen.  He  did  this  on  the  sly  and  had 
the  bookkeeper  Lawton  as  a  partner.  They  were  coin 
ing  money  on  the  strength  of  the  Agency's  reputation. 
A  new  set  of  employes  were  sent  from  the  East,  I  being 
the  only  one  of  the  old  "bunch"  left.  This  swelled  my 
head,  of  course. 

Mr.  James  McCartney,  who  had  gained  a  world-wide 
reputation  through  his  good  work  in  hanging  twenty- 


70  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

three  miscreants,  was  made  superintendent  in  A.'s  stead. 

McCartney  had  be«n  sent  to  Denver  a  short  time 
previous  to  see  how  matters  were  working.  His  eagle 
eye  soon  caught  on  to  the  true  state  of  affairs,  with  the 
above  result.  A  patrol  system  to  furnish  uniformed 
policemen  was  organized  and  Captain  John  Holmes  was 
imported  from  Chicago  to  take  charge  of  it,  under  the 
supervision  of  Mr.  McCartney,  and  a  nice  young  lady, 
Miss  Mollie  Rucker,  was  sent  from  the  east  to  act  as  chief 
clerk  and  cashier;  but  a  few  yea'rs  later  Captain  Holmes 
nailed  her  to  the  matrimonial  cross  and  we  were  minus 
a  pretty  cashier.  This  caused  the  Dickensons  to  put  a 
veto  on  the  fair  sex  as  office  employes  in  Denver.  No 
doubt  they  didn't  like  the  idea  of  making  a  matrimonial 
bureau  out  of  the  Agency.  However,  they  gave  the 
newly  wedded  couple  a  good  send-off  by  presenting  them 
with  a  fine  set  of  bedroom  furniture. 

Shortly  after  McCartney  took  charge,  I  was  sent  to 
Aspen,  Colorado,  on  my  first  mining  operation.  It  was 
an  ore-stealing  case,  and  the  parties  were  the  Aspen 
Mining  &  Smelting  Company,  J.  B.  Wellman  being  the 
president  and  Fred  Rucklan  the  general  manager. 

At  that  time  Aspen  was  a  booming  silver  mining  camp. 
I  went  to  work  in  the  mine  as  a  common  miner,  although 
I  was  green  at  the  business.  Of  course,  the  foreman, 
Fred  Comb,  and  the  shift-boss,  Tom  Qualle,  knew  my 
business  and  overlooked  my  slow  work  while  learning 
to  strike  a  drill.  I  hadn't  been  at  work  long  when  my 
partner,  who  had  taught  me  to  mine,  had  both  eyes  blown 
out  and  both  hands  blown  off,  besides  suffering  other 
injuries.  He  had  taken  out  his  knife  and  was  opening  a 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  71 

new  box  of  caps  when  they  exploded,  with  the  above  re 
sults.  He  begged  to  be  shot,  and  told  me  that  he  had  no 
desire  to  live  in  that  condition;  but  he  did  live  and  was 
sent  to  his  mother  somewhere  in  the  East. 

I  came  very  near  being  killed  myself  while  at  work 
in  this  mine.  Qualle  and  I  had  started  down  a  ladder 
loo  feet  long.  Qualle  was  ahead,  while  I  followed.  I 
held  the  lighted  candle  and  sharp  pointed  steel  candle 
stick  in  my  right  hand  and  in  some  way  the  sharp  point  of 
the  candlestick  got  stuck  into  the  flesh  under  one  eye. 
The  pain  was  so  sudden  that  I  turned  loose  the  hold  with 
the  left  hand,  but  like  a  flash  realized  where  I  was  and 
grabbed  a  round  of  the  ladder  with  my  right  hand  and 
thereby  saved  my  life  by  a  mere  hair's  breadth.  Had  I 
fallen  my  body  would  have  knocked  Qualle  off  the  ladder 
and  we  would  both  have  had  a  free  ride  of  70  to  80  feet 
straight  down. 

After  working  a  month  I  quit  mining  and  joined 
"Paddy  Mack"  and  his  gang  of  ore  thieves. 

Paddy  McNamarra  was  the  slickest  ore  thief  that  ever 
did  business  in  the  West,  and  he  bragged  of  how  he 
could  tell  a  detective  by  his  actions.  He  told  me  that 
he  had  handled  over  one  hundred  thousand  dollars'  worth 
of  stolen  ore  in  this  camp  alone,  and  that  he  had  made  a 
fortune  in  Central  City  and  Blackhawk  in  the  same  busi 
ness.  His  main  graft  was  handling  ore  stolen  by  the 
miners  and  bosses  of  packtrains.  He  initiated  me  into 
the  mysteries  of  the  ore  stealing  business  and  I  soon  be 
came  an  expert. 

In  order  to  have  a  "cinch"  case  against  "Paddy  Mack" 
and  his  gang,  I  would  have  Fred  Rucklan  and  D.  R.  C. 


72  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

White,  the  banker  and  wealthy  mine  owner,  hide  in 
empty  freight  cars  or  upper-story  rooms  where  they  could 
see  the  ore  delivered  to  the  samplers  late  in  the  night.  In 
that  way  the  owners  and  foreman  of  the  samplers  would 
be  caught  "dead  to  rights." 

I  shall  never  forget  the  cursing  that  "Paddy  Mack" 
gave  me  one  night  when  I  lighted  a  match  and  held  it 
close  to  his  face  so  that  Mr.  Rucklan  and  his  friends  in 
an  upstairs  window  could  see  his  countenance.  He 
knocked  the  match  from  my  hand  and  gave  me  a  strong 
lecture  and  cursing  about  the  danger  of  being  seen  if 
any  one  were  looking  out  of  the  windows  upstairs.  On 
this  occasion  we  were  receiving  stolen  ore  worth  $10.00 
a  pound,  and  while  we  were  taking  it  out  of  the  tent  and 
loading  it  onto  burros  Mr.  Rucklan  and  his  witnesses, 
who  were  watching  us  from  an  upstairs  window,  hurried 
to  the  R.  ore  sampler  and  hid  in  empty  freight  cars  so 
as  to  see  us  deliver  it  to  the  sampler  foreman. 

Besides  being  a  partner  of  "Paddy  Mack"  I  was  doing 
business  on  the  side  with  many  other  noted  ore  thieves. 
One  of  these  fellows  had  a  false  cellar  under  his  house 
and  kept  the  stolen  ore  there  until  he  got  a  wagonload. 
He  would  then  hire  a  wagon  and  team  and  deliver  the  ore 
in  broad  daylight  to  the  B.  sampler.  I  once  laid  a  trap 
so  that  Mr.  Rucklan  and  his  friends  were  in  hiding  and 
happened  into  the  sampler  in  time  to  see  the  owner,  Mr. 
Bv  receive  the  ore. 

When  the  collapse  came  I  was  thrown  into  jail  by 
Sheriff  White  and  his  deputy,  West  Calvin,  along  with 
others  of  the  gang.  Bonds  were  soon  furnished  by 
"Paddy  Mack"  and  others. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  73 

While  in  jail  I  found  out  that  Mike  M ,  one  of 

my  chums,  intended  to  jump  his  bond  and  quit  the 
country,  so  I  arranged  with  him  to  do  likewise.  He  was 
due  to  be  out  of  jail  a  few  days  ahead  of  me,  so  it  was 
agreed  that  should  he  skip  out  before  I  was  liberated, 
he  would  write  to  me,  General  Delivery,  Kansas  City, 
Mo.,  telling  where  he  could  be  found.  He  said  he  would 
first  go  to  Omaha,  Nebraska,  where  he  had  friends  in 
the  stone  yards,  he  being  a  stonecutter  by  trade. 

By  the  time  my  bonds  arrived  through  the  bank,  Mike 
M.  had  shaken  the  dust  of  Aspen  from  his  feet,  so  I  then 
went  on  his  trail.  In  the  search  for  him  I  was  assisted 
by  one  of  our  operatives,  John  S.  Kaiser,  later  the  super 
intendent  of  the  Denver  office.  We  searched  the  stone 
quarries  and  yards  of  Omaha  and  Lincoln,  Nebraska,  and 
Kansas  City,  Missouri  without  success.  Finally  I  re 
ceived  a  letter  in  Kansas  City  telling  me  to  meet  him  in  a 
small  town  in  Oklahoma.  This  was  the  finish  of  poor 
Mike  M.  He  was  landed  back  in  the  Aspen  jail. 

When  the  case  came  up  for  trial,  a  start  was  made  on  a 
fellow  by  the  name  of  E.  In  his  case  I  was  not  required 
to  show  my  hand  by  going  on  the  stand,  as  he  had  been 
caught  with  the  stolen  ore,  en  route  to  Denver,  on  the 
train.  We  had  a  "cinch"  case  against  him,  but  the  jury 
hung  and  his  case  was  put  off  to  the  next  term  of  court. 
We  found  the  gang  had  too  many  friends  and  too  much 
influence  to  ever  convict  any  of  them.  Therefore  the 
cases  against  the  small  thieves  were  continued  to  the  next 
term  of  court,  which  ended  the  matter.  The  big  fellows, 
— the  owners  of  the  two  sampling  works  where  the  stolen 
ore  was  sold,  were  let  go  free  with  the  understanding 
that  they  sell  out  and  quit  the  country. 


74  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Poor  "Paddy  Mack"  died  from  a  broken  heart  soon 
after  being  arrested. 

Thus  one  of  the  worst  gangs  of  ore  thieves  in  the 
West  was  put  out  of  business  in  Aspen,  though  I  met 
some  of  them  in  Cripple  Creek  and  other  places  in  later 
years,  following  the  same  line  of  business,  and  prospering. 

My  next  operation  out  of  Denver  was  "testing"  rail 
road  conductors  on  a  great  western  railway  system 
through  the  States  of  Colorado,  Nebraska,  Kansas,  Iowa 
and  Missouri.  This  kind  of  work  was  not  to  my  liking, 
though  I  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  country  and 
learning  new  points  in  human  nature. 

There  were  about  a  dozen  of  us  operatives  on  this 
work. 

In  Beatrice,  Nebraska,  on  this  operation,  I  made  the 
acquaintance  of  Gen.  Colby  and  saw  his  noted  stallion, 
Lindentree,  presented  to  Gen.  U.  S.  Grant  by  the  Sultan 
of  Turkey.  Seeing  this  horse  was  a  treat,  as  I  had  never 
before  seen  so  much  horse  wrapped  in  such  a  small  hide. 

My  next  big  operation  started  soon  after  returning  to 
Denver  from  the  railroad  "test  case,"  our  client  being 
the  Lord  Mayor  of  London,  England,  through  his  Agent 
Mr.  McDermott  of  New  York  City.  His  royal  Tghness, 
the  Lord  Mayor,  had  bought  a  gold  brick  by  paying 
$190,000.00  in  cash  for  the  Mudsill  Silver  Mine  at  Fair- 
play,  Park  County,  Colorado,  and  in  addition  to  the  cash 
payment,  he  had  contracted  to  build  a  $40,000.00  ore- 
treating  plant  on  the  ground  and  to  give  the  sellers  Dan 
V.  and  Matches,  $75,000  worth  of  stock  in  a  new 
company  to  be  organized  under  the  title  of  the  Mudsill 
Mining  &  Milling  Co,  Before  making  the  deal  his  'Igh- 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  75 

ness  had  employed  McDermott,  a  noted  mining  expert 
of  New  York  City  to  examine  the  property.  McDermott 
reported  30,000  tons  of  ore  in  sight,  worth  $30  per  ton. 
To  make  sure,  before  loosening  his  grip  on  the  dollars 
of  his  forefathers,  the  Lord  Mayor  sent  another  mining 
expert  from  London  to  examine  the  property.  In  the 
meantime  Mr.  Dan  V.  remained  in  London  with  the  palms 
of  his  hands  itching  for  the  cash  that  would  be  his  if  his 
trusted  lieutenant  in  Fairplay,  whom  we  will  call  Jacky, 
did  his  duty. 

The  London  expert  made  a  more  favorable  report  than 
McDermott.  Then  the  contracts  were  signed  and  the 
cash  turned  over  to  Dan  V.  who  "hiked"  back  to  America. 

Soon  a  contract  was  let  to  Parson  &  Ayllmers,  the  lead 
ing  mill  men  of  the  United  States,  for  a  $40,000  mill  to 
be  put  up  on  the  Mudsill  property.  After  the  mill 
foundation  had  been  completed,  but  before  the  ma 
chinery  had  been  shipped  from  the  factory,  Mr. 
McDermott  of  New  York  had  discovered  a  certain  kind 
of  silver  in  the  Mudsill  ore  samples,  which  was  foreign 
to  that  class  of  ore.  This  looked  suspicious,  and  to  pro 
tect  his  reputation,  McDermott  cabled  his  discovery  to 
the  Lord  Mayor.  His  'Ighness  then  cabled  to  McDer 
mott  to  employ  the  Dickenson  Agency  to  investigate  the 
matter. 

Superintendent  James  McCartney  received  a  letter  from 
our  head  office  in  New  York  to  put  one  of  his  best  men 
on  this  case,  as  it  was  an  operation  of  great  importance. 
I  was  called  into  Mr.  McCartney's  private  office  and 
shown  the  correspondence  on  the  subject.  I  was  told 
of  the  importance  of  not  making  a  mistake  on  the  opera- 


76  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

tion,  as  it  might  mean  the  cancelling  of  the  Parson  & 
Ayllmers'  mill  contract  on  the  Mudsill.  He  explained 
that  Mr.  Ayllmers  of  that  firm  was  one  of  the  Dickenson 
family,  he  having  married  a  daughter  of  Anson  Dickenson. 

After  being  detailed  on  the  case  I  kissed  Mamie  and 
Viola  good-by  and  started  for  Fairplay,  high  up  in  the 
mountains,  on  the  eastern  slope  of  the  main  continental 
divide. 

In  Fairplay  two  tough  dance-halls  were  running,  and 
night  was  turned  into  day  by  the  tough  element.  Of 
course,  I  joined  them,  as  I  was  to  play  the  part  of  a  Texas 
outlaw. 

Soon  after  my  arrival  I  ran  on  to  an  old  cowboy  chum 
whom  I  had  not  seen  since  I  was  a  boy  in  southern 
Texas,  about  the  year  1875.  His  name  was  Pete 
Stewart  and  he  was  proprietor  of  a  saloon  in  Fairplay 
and  one  in  Alma.  Up  to  within  a  short  time  of  the 
closing  of  the  operation,  Stewart  supposed  that  I  had 
really  become  a  tough  character,  therefore  he  kept  my 
true  name  a  secret.  I  had  adopted  the  name  of  Charles 
Leon. 

In  a  natural  way  I  learned  that  Jacky  had  been  Dan 
V's  right-hand  man  at  the  Mudsill  mine  before  the  sale 
of  that  property;  therefore  my  plans  were  laid  to  win 
the  friendship  of  Jacky. 

One  day  I  saw  Jacky  wrestling  with  a  wild  bronco,  but 
he  was  afraid  to  mount  him.  Here  was  my  chance;  so 
stepping  up,  I  inquired  if  my  services  were  needed. 
Taking  hold  of  the  rope  I  volunteered  to  take  the  wire 
edge  off  the  bronco  for  him.  He  was  a  wiry  Texas 
four-year-old,  and  he  gave  me  a  ride,  as  he  bucked 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  77 

pretty  hard  at  times.  Even  after  I  had  taken  off  the  wire 
edge,  Jacky  was  afraid  to  mount  him,  as  he  still  had  a 
lame  leg  caused  by  the  fall  from  the  horse.  The  result 
was,  that  I  promised  to  break  the  bronco  gentle  for  Jacky, 
and  that  night  he  and  I  got  on  a  glorious  drunk  to 
gether.  We  wore  pistols  strapped  to  our  waists  and  ran 
the  dance  halls  to  suit  ourselves.  Jacky  told  his  friends 
that  I  was  a  bad  man  from  Texas,  as  I  had  given  him  a 
hint  that  I  had  to  leave  the  Lone  Star  State  for  a  killing. 

After  midnight  a  drunken  gang  tried  to  run  things. 
One  big  fellow  pulled  a  knife  on  a  friend  of  Jacky 's. 
Just  then  I  struck  the  fellow  over  the  head  with  old  Colt's 
45  and  knocked  him  down.  Then  one  of  the  fellow's 
friends  knocked  me  to  my  knees  with  his  fist,  at  the  same 
time  drawing  his  pistol;  but  in  a  jiffy  my  cocked  pistol 
was  in  the  man's  face  and  I  ordered  him  to  put  up  his 
gun  and  leave  the  hall.  This  he  did,  and  his  gang  soon 
followed.  Then  Jacky  and  I  were  heroes  of  the  ball  and 
the  "girls"  patted  us  on  the  back.  But  about  half  an 
hour  later  one  of  the  "girls"  from  the  other  dance  hall 
came  running  over  to  warn  Jacky  and  me  that  the  gang 
had  blood  in  their  eyes  and  had  gone  after  reinforcements 
and  more  ammunition  and  were  coming  back  to  teach  us  a 
lesson.  By  main  force  the  eight  or  nine  "girls"  pushed 
Jacky  and  me  into  a  wine  room  and  locked  us  in.  Jacky 
was  pretty  drunk.  I  was  playing  drunker  than  I  really 
was,  and  in  truth  I  was  glad  the  "girls"  kept  us  prisoners 
in  the  wine  room,  though  I  pretended  to  be  dying  to  get 
out  to  fight  a  battle. 

The  gang  returned  well  armed  and  were  told  by  the 
"girls"  that  we  had  gone  to  bed.  They  soon  left,  and 


78  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

when  daylight  came  Jacky  and  I  went  to  bed  together. 
He  and  I  were  now  bosom  friends,  and  ever  afterwards 
in  Fairplay,  I  was  regarded  as  a  dangerous  man  to 
"monkey"  with. 

Every  night  Jacky  and  I  spent  our  time  at  the  dance 
halls  drinking  and  dancing.  Both  of  us  spent  money 
freely  and  were  favorites  with  the  "girls." 

Jacky  told  me  some  of  his  experiences  with  the  noted 
salter  of  mines,  "Chicken  Bill,"  in  the  early  days  of  Lead- 
ville,  and  he  told  me  enough  to  convince  me  that  he  had 
help  "salt"  the  Mudsill  mine  for  Dan  V. 

In  my  report  I  advised  that  work  stop  on  the  new  mill, 
as  the  Mudsill  mine  was  a  fake.  Soon  the  contract  with 
Parson  &  Ayllmers  for  the  building  of  the  mill  was 
cancelled  and  work  ceased. 

Finally  I  slipped  into  Denver  and  met  Mr.  McDermott 
of  New  York  City.  He  gave  instructions,  after  hearing 
my  story,  that  we  get  at  the  bottom  of  the  salting  of  the 
Mudsill,  regardless  of  expense,  so  that  the  Lord  Mayor 
could  get  his  money  back,  through  the  courts. 

I  then  returned  to  Fairplay  and  spent  money  freely. 
I  had  explained  to  Jacky  confidentially,  that  my  father 
in  Texas  was  well-to-do  and  furnished  me  all  the  money 
that  I  needed ;  so  Jacky  and  I  made  "Rome  howl"  every 
night  at  the  dance  halls.  Jacky  had  considerable  money 
of  his  own,  and  he  spent  it  freely. 

Shortly,  I  secured  a  partial  confession  from  Jacky  as 
to  how  he  and  his  partner  Andy,  had  spent  three  years 
salting  the  Mudsill  mine;  that  they  had  kept  the  tunnel 
locked  during  this  time,  and  not  even  their  best  friends 
were  allowed  to  enter. 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  79 

To  help  me  out  in  my  work  the  Mudsill  Company  ad 
vertised  for  bids  to  drive  a  7o-foot  upraise  from  the 
lower  workings  in  the  mine.  It  was  thought  by  Mr. 
McDermott  that  good  ore  might  possibly  be  struck  in 
this  upraise.  Jacky  and  I  put  in  separate  bids  on  this  con 
tract.  Neither  knew  what  the  other's  bid  was,  although 
Jacky  had  advised  me  of  the  lowest  limit  that  it  was  safe 
to  bid.  He  knew  how  difficult  the  blue  limestone  rock 
was  to  break  down.  Through  manipulation  in  our  Denver 
office  my  bid  of  $9  per  foot  proved  the  lowest,  so  I  was 
awarded  the  contract.  I  made  Jacky  my  foreman  and 
John  C.  was  appointed  my  shift-boss.  Supplies  were 
hauled  to  the  Mudsill,  eight  miles  up  Horseshoe  Gulch, 
and  a  force  of  men  put  to  work.  Jacky  and  I  had  rooms 
in  town  and  rode  to  the  mine  on  horseback.  We  couldn't 
do  justice  to  the  dance  halls  and  liquor  by  living  at  the 
mine.  In  order  to  recuperate  we  would  often  remain 
several  nights  at  the  mine. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  months,  by  the  time  my  con 
tract  was  finished,  I  had  got  a  full  confession  from 
Jacky.  He  and  I  had  also  become  partners  in  a  mining 
claim  which  we  located  up  in  Mosquito  Gulch.  We  went 
up  there  and  camped  out  alone,  and  sunk  the  lo-foot 
assessment  shaft  ourselves.  This  gave  me  a  good  oppor 
tunity  to  work  on  Jacky. 

A  couple  of  years  later,  after  I  had  forgotten  that  I 
owned  a  half  interest  in  this  claim,  I  sold  it  for  $100 
through  the  mail.  Of  course  this  money  was  pure  velvet 
for  the  lining  of  my  own  pocket. 

From  Jacky  I  received  all  the  particulars  connected 
with  the  salting  of  the  Mudsill  mine,  and  the  fixing  up 


80  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

of  the  9-foot  vein  out  of  the  short-line,  a  decomposed 
lime  rocjc  which  lay  below  and  on  top  of  the  ^p-inch  ore- 
vein. 

Jacky  also  told  of  how  the  Mudsill  had  been  salted  once 
before,  and  sold  by  Dan  V.  to  a  Cincinnati,  Ohio,  Jew 
for  $90,000  and  that  later  Dan  V.  bought  the  mine  back 
for  $8,000. 

After  being  in  Fairplay  quite  awhile,  I  sent  for  Mamie 
and  Viola,  so  they  could  enjoy  the  cool  mountain  summer 
weather.  My  friend  "Doc"  Lockridge,  who  owned  a 
pay-mine  near  Alma,  lived  in  the  leading  hotel  of  that 
town,  hence  it  was  arranged  that  Mamie  should  go  there 
as  his  "niece"  from  Kansas.  I  had  been  to  Alma  to 
arrange  matters.  It  was  agreed  that  Mamie  was  to  call 
him  uncle,  and  she  was  to  be  introduced  as  a  widow 
whose  husband  had  died  a  couple  of  years  previous. 

I  had  only  met  "Doc"  a  few  times  in  Denver,  but  his 
dead  brother,  Bill  Lockridge,  had  been  a  warm  cowboy 
friend  of  mine  in  the  Indian  Territory  and  Kansas.  Be 
fore  Bill's  death  "Doc"  and  I  first  met  at  his  home  in 
Denver. 

I  will  here  digress  so  as  to  record  a  small  section  of 
cattle  history  and  at  tne  same  time  give  Ex-President 
Grover  Cleveland  and  his  well  developed  stubborn  bump 
their  just  dues. 

It  was  about  the  year  1884.  A  crowd  of  cattlemen  of 
the  Indian  Territory,  through  fraud  in  bribing  a  few 
Indian  Chiefs,  secured  a  ten  year  lease  on  the  western 
part  of  the  Cheyenne  Indian  Reservation. 

During  that  spring,  Bill  Lockridge  and  the  other 
lessees  turned  large  numbers  of  steers  onto  the  Cheyenne 


MAMIE  AND  VIOLA.: 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  81 

Reservation  to  fatten  for  the  fall  market.  President 
Cleveland  got  upon  his  high  horse,  and  sent  Lieutenant 
Sheridan  of  the  United  States  Army  out  to  investigate. 
Gen.  Phil  Sheridan  also  came  out  in  connection  witft  the 
case — he  being  a  brother  to  Lieutenant  Sheridan;  and 
in  the  then  wild  and  wooly  cattle  town  of  Caldwell, 
Kansas,  I  met  the  old  General.  He  had  his  picture  taken 
in  a  group  with  some  of  his  old  soldier  friends,  and  I 
still  retain  one  of  the  original  copies  as  a  relic. 

When  Lieutenant  Sheridan  sent  in  his  report,  President 
Cleveland  issued  a  proclamation  giving  the  cattlemen  just 
forty  days  to  vacate  the  Cheyenne  Reservation. 

The  cattlemen  had  a  special  meeting  in  Caldwell  and 
raised  $100,000  in  cash  to  bribe  the  President  to  extend 
the  time  to  eighty  days,  which  would  give  the  steers  time 
to  fatten  before  having  to  move  them.  A  committee  of 
five  was  sent  to  Washington  to  work  on  the  President, 
Bill  Lockridge  being  one  of  them.  On  reaching  the  White 
House  and  being  seated  in  the  reception  hall,  the  Presi 
dent  gave  orders  through  his  lackey-boy,  that  the  com 
mittee  appoint  one  of  their  number  to  come  into  the 
Blue  room  to  meet  him.  As  Bill  Lockridge  was  a  good 
Southern  Democrat,  and  as  he  was  a  chip  from  the  noted 
Lockridge  family  of  Revolutionary  days,  he  was  selected 
to  do  the  bribe  act. 

On  returning  to  Caldwell,  Bill  Lockridge  had  to  tell 
me  how  he  got  turned  down  in  the  White  House  by  a 
man  who  pretended  to  be  a  good  Democrat.  Here  is 
Bill's  own  story  in  substance: 

"The  old  devil  shook  my  hand  and  said  he  was  glad 
to  see  me.  He  then  asked  if  I  were  related  to  the  Lock- 

6 


82  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

ridges  of  Virginia,  and  it  turned  out  that  he  knew  my 
grandfather.  After  we  had  a  pleasant  chat,  he  asked 
what  he  could  do  for  me.  I  explained  the  situation,  tell 
ing  him  how  it  would  ruin  us  to  get  our  steers  out  of  the 
Reservation  in  forty  days.  I  told  him  that  we  had  one 
hundred  thousand  dollars  in  cash  to  give  him  if  he  would 
extend  the  time  to  eighty  days.  He  smiled,  and  getting 
up  on  his  feet  said :  'Well,  Mr.  Lockridge,  how  long  did 
it  take  you  to  come  here  ?'  I  told  him  we  were  five  days 
coming.  He  then  said :  'Well,  it  will  take  you  that  long 
to  get  back,  so  you  are  losing  valuable  time.  Good-by 
Mr.  Lockridge.'  He  had  the  gall  to  reach  out  his  hand 

to  bid  me  good-by,  but  d him,  I  just  gave  him  a 

contemptible  look  and  walked  out,  and  you  can  bet  it 
will  be  a  cold  day  when  I  vote  the  Democratic  ticket 
again." 

Now,  this  just  shows  one  phase  of  human  nature.  As 
a  man  Bill  Lockridge  was  a  prince,  and  honorable  in  all 
his  dealings. 

It  was  Sunday  morning  when  I  rode  the  seven  miles 
on  horseback  to  Alma  from  Fairplay.  My  excuse  for 
going  to  Alma  was  to  visit  my  old  cowboy  friend  Pete 
Stewart,  who  conducted  a  saloon  there. 

I  met  "Doc"  Lockridge  in  Stewart's  saloon  and  he 
invited  me  up  to  the  hotel  to  take  dinner  with  him.  In 
the  ladies'  parlor  in  the  presence  of  other  guests,  "Doc" 
introduced  me  to  his  pretty  young  "niece"  from  Kansas. 
Little  Viola  had  been  left  in  the  room  for  fear  that  she 
might  call  me  papa.  At  the  dinner  table  Viola  did  call 
me  papa  once,  but  it  was  after  most  of  the  guests  had  left 
the  table.  We  finally  got  her  trained  to  call  me  Mr. 
Leon. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  83 

That  night  I  retired  with  "Doc"  to  his  room,  but  I 

couldn't  sleep,  so  got  up  to  get  some  fresh  air,  and  to  do 
a  little  skirmishing  like  a  thief  in  the  night.  It  is  cer 
tainly  a  funny  business  which  makes  it  necessary  for  a 
man  to  tip-toe  through  a  dark  hall  to  his  own  wife's  bed 
room.  But,  gee  whiz!  what  a  scandal  would  have  been 
raised  had  I  been  caught  going  into  this  "young  widow's" 
room. 

My  trips  to  Alma  became  frequent,  and  it  was  soon 
noised  about  that  I  was  in  love  with  "Doc's"  niece.  Then 
the  landlady  of  the  hotel  and  other  lady  guests,  who  had 
become  attached  to  Mamie,  aired  my  reputation  as  one 
of  the  worst  toughs  and  dance-hall  loafers  of  Fairplay 
and  advised  her  not  to  associate  with  me.  Some  of  the 
men  who  were  "stuck"  on  the  "young  widow"  had  told 
of  my  doings  in  Fairplay.  They  tried  to  "knock"  me 
with  their  little  "hammers,"  but  it  didn't  work. 

For  the  next  few  weeks  I  led  a  double  life, — about  four 
nights  of  each  week  I  was  carousing  with  Jacky  and  the 
dance-hall  "girls,"  and  the  balance  of  the  time  I  was 
doing  the  tip-toe  act  and  playing  myself  off  as  a  re 
spectable  gentleman. 

No  doubt,  dear  reader,  you  think  this  was  a  rank  in 
justice  to  poor,  pure-hearted  Mamie;  and  so  it  was,  but 
she  had  confidence  in  me  and  sanctioned  it,  so  long  as  it 
was  part  of  my  business. 

After  about  eight  months  I  wound  up  the  Mudsill 
operation.  Towards  the  last  I  was  suspected  by  Dan  V. 
of  being  a  detective  for  the  Mudsill  Company,  and  one 
night  when  he,  Pete  Stewart  and  I  were  on  a  tear  in  Fair- 
play,  he  tried  to  raise  a  row  with  me,  but  I  held  my 
temper  and  laughed  at  his  threats  and  insinuations. 


84  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Soon  after  my  return  to  Denver,  Supt.  James  McCart 
ney  took  up  the  work  and  I  dropped  out  of  the  game. 

The  first  thing  that  "yours,  etc."  did  was  to  decoy 
Jacky  to  Denver  and  have  him  brought  into  the  private 
office.  There  poor  Jacky  was  confronted  with  his  own 
photo,  taken  in  stripes  at  the  Nebraska  Penitentiary  under 
the  name  of  Jack  Allen,  years  before.  Jacky  was 
stunned;  so  I  was  told.  He  had  confided  in  me  and 
showed  me  the  ugly  gunshot  wound  in  his  hip,  received 
while  leading  a  wild,  reckless  life  in  Dakota  and  Nebraska 
under  the  name  of  Jack  Allen.  He  also  told  of  serving 
a  term  in  the  "pen"  at  Lincoln,  Nebraska,  giving  me  the 
number  of  his  cell,  etc.,  so  it  was  an  easy  matter  for 
McCartney  to  secure  a  copy  of  his  photo  and  his  prison 
record.  Those  were  used  as  a  lever  to  make  him  confess, 
as  he  didn't  want  his  identify  known  among  his  friends 
in  Fairplay;  hence  he  made  a  full  confession  to  Mr. 
McCartney. 

All  of  Dan  V.'s  property  was  attached  and  so  was  the 
property  of  Mr.  Matches,  an  officer  of  Bay  City,  Mich., 
he  being  Dan  V.'s  partner  and  financial  backer. 

The  case  was  tried  in  the  United  States  Court  and  was 
passed  on  by  the  Circuit  Court  of  the  United  States 
in  our  favor. 

The  Lord  Mayor  of  London,  so  I  was  told  by  Mr. 
McCartney,  recovered  $150,000  of  his  loss. 

Years  later,  my  friend,  Attorney  W.  T.  Skoll  of  Spo 
kane,  Washington,  showed  me  the  new  volume  of  the 
Federal  Reporter,  Vol.  61,  p.  163,  containing  the  de 
cisions  rendered  on  the  Mudsill  mine-salting  case,  and 
Mr.  Skoll  informed  me  that  this  was  the  only  mine-salting 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  85 

case  ever  passed  on  by  the  Circuit  Judges  of  the  United 
States. 

Thus  did  the  Mudsill  mine-salting  operation  end,  and 
become  part  of  our  law  history  to  be  used  as  a  precedent 
in  future  mine-salting  cases. 

After  a  month  spent  in  Denver  doing  all  kinds  of  work, 
from  robbery  cases  to  hiding  in  ash-pits  in  order  to  catch 
people  stealing,  I  was  sent  to  Longmont,  Colorado,  on 
an  important  operation. 

In  Helena,  Montana,  a  young  man  by  the  name  of 
Wraxhall  had  got  into  a  "scrape"  with  a  wealthy  man  of 
that  section. 

In  the  fight  which  followed,  the  wealthy  man  was 
badly  wounded  and  now  lay  at  the  point  of  death.  In 
case  he  recovered,  nothing  was  to  be  done  with  Wraxhall, 
so  as  to  prevent  a  scandal.  But  in  case  of  death,  then 
he  was  to  be  prosecuted. 

The  officers  of  Montana  had  lost  trail  of  young 
Wraxhall  and  had  turned  the  case  over  to  us  to  locate 
him,  so  that  he  would  not  become  suspicious.  He  was 
not  to  be  arrested  until  his  victim  died. 

It  was  thought  that  he  might  be  in  hiding  at  his  brother 
Frank's  ranch,  a  couple  of  miles  out  of  Longmont.  I 
was  detailed  on  the  case  and  left  Denver  dressed  as  a 
tramp  cowboy.  I  carried  a  description  and  photo  of 
young  Wraxhall  in  my  pocket. 

I  walked  out  from  Longmont  to  the  Frank  Wraxhall 
ranch,  arriving  there  just  at  noon.  Hoping  to  get  a 
peep  into  the  home,  I  rang  the  bell  at  the  front  door  of 
the  nice  white  residence.  A  lady  came  to  the  door  and  I 
told  her  I  wished  to  see  Mr.  Frank  Wraxhall.  She  said 


86  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

he  was  eating  his  dinner,  but  that  she  would  call  him. 
Instead  of  seating  me  in  the  nice  parlor,  Frank  Wraxhall 
conducted  me  out  to  the  yard  to  hear  my  tale  of  woe. 
I  told  him  that  my  name  was  Charlie  Le  Roy  and  that 
I  was  stranded  in  Longmont  with  not  a  cent  to  buy  my 
dinner;  that  I  heard  he  had  some  wild  horses  to  break 
and  I  had  come  out  to  get  a  job  to  break  a  few  for  my 
board  until  money  could  reach  me  from  my  home  in 
Texas.  He  said  I  could  have  a  free  dinner,  so  he  con 
ducted  me  to  a  dining-room  built  off  from  the  kitchen, 
where  the  hired  men  ate  their  meals.  He  agreed  to  talk 
to  me  about  the  horse  breaking  after  dinner. 

About  the  time  my  dinner  was  finished,  three  men  came 
out  of  the  house.  I  asked  one  of  the  cowboys  who  these 
men  were.  He  replied  that  they  were  all  brothers.  One 
he  said,  was  the  Rev.  Wraxhall,  a  minister  of  a  swell 
church  on  Capitol  Hill  in  Denver,  and  another  was 
Oliver,  just  home  from  college,  and  the  third  was  Frank, 
the  proprietor  of  this  ranch.  I  asked  if  there  were  any 
more  brothers  in  the  family.  He  replied  yes,  that  there 
was  a  brother  in  Montana,  who  was  a  little  older  than 
Oliver. 

Finally  Frank  called  me  to  him  in  the  yard  and  asked 
if  I  could  ride  a  wild  bronco  and  stay  with  him  if  he 
bucked.  I  told  him  that  I  was  brought  up  in  southern 
Texas  in  the  early  days  of  the  cattle  business,  and  that 
ought  to  be  recommendation  enough.  He  replied  that  it 
wasn't,  for  he  said  he  had  been  fooled  in  hiring  riders 
from  Texas,  just  on  their  word.  So,  for  that  reason,  he 
kept  an  outlaw  horse  with  which  to  test  new  riders.  He 
said  if  I  could  stick  on  that  horse  until  he  quit  bucking, 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  87 

and  whip  him  every  jump,  that  I  could  have  a  job  with 
him  as  long  as  he  raised  horses  on  the  ranch.  I  told  him 
to  trot  out  his  outlaw  horse,  and  he  then  sent  a  cowboy 
out  in  the  big  pasture  to  drive  up  the  wild  bunch.  When 
corralled,  the  outlaw  was  caught.  He  was  a  vicious,  iron- 
gray  four-year  old,  and  very  strong.  We  put  the  saddle 
on  him.  Then  Frank  told  me  I  had  to  ride  him  in  the 
calf-pasture,  a  small  tract  of  an  acre  in  front  of  the 
residence.  This  tract  was  enclosed  with  a  high  barbed 
wire  fence,  and  I  protested  that  it  was  dangerous  to  ride 
a  wild  horse  in  such  a  small  lot  enclosed  with  barbed 
wire.  He  said  the  horse  had  never  failed  to  throw  every 
man  who  ever  mounted  him,  and  he  was  sure  he  would 
throw  me  too,  and  for  that  reason  he  didn't  want  to  take 
chances  on  the  horse  getting  away  with  the  saddle  on. 

No  doubt,  his  main  object  was  to  give  his  brother  in 
hiding  a  chance  to  see  a  free  exhibition  without  exposing 
himself  to  view. 

In  front  of  the  picket  fence,  surrounding  the  residence, 
I  held  the  blindfolded  bronco.  On  the  porch  were  three 
ladies,  also  Oliver  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Wraxhall  from 
Denver.  Frank  stood  near  me  at  the  front  gate.  Several 
cowboys  and  the  man  cook  were  witnesses  from  another 
place. 

After  mounting,  and  just  as  I  reached  forward  to  raise 
the  blind  from  the  horse's  eyes,  I  glanced  toward  the  front 
door  and  saw  the  head  of  a  black-haired  man  peeping 
around  the  door  casing.  So  here  was  my  man,  thought 
I,  and  I  determined  to  get  a  better  look  at  him  while  the 
horse  was  bucking. 

As  soon  as  the  blind  was  raised,  I  struck  the  bronco 


88  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

with  my  quirt  and  he  went  straight  up  in  the  air  and 
changed  ends  before  he  hit  the  ground. 

For  the  next  twenty  minutes  I  had  to  ride,  and  on  one 
occasion  I  had  to  throw  one  leg  above  the  saddle  to  keep 
from  being  cut  by  the  wire  fence. 

Several  times,  as  the  horse  bucked  by  the  front  gate,  I 
got  a  good  look  at  my  man  and  he  looked  just  exactly  like 
the  photo,  and  answered  the  description.  In  the  excite 
ment  he  stood  among  the  ladies  on  the  porch.  All  were 
clapping  their  hands  and  cheering. 

After  the  outlaw  had  worn  himself  out  bucking,  my 
man  had  disappeared  again,  but  my  work  was  done.  The 
instructions  had  been  to  discontinue  and  return  to  Denver 
as  soon  as  I  was  positive  that  our  man  had  been  located. 

When  the  horse  was  subdued,  Frank  Wraxhall  asked 
me  to  ride  out  in  the  big  pasture  and  help  drive  up  a 
bunch  of  cattle,  as  he  wanted  all  the  meanness  taken  out 
of  the  bronco  while  he  was  under  control. 

The  cowboy  and  I  returned  with  the  cattle  about  night. 
After  eating  supper  I  told  Wraxhall  that  I  was  going  to 
town  to  see  if  .my  money  had  arrived  from  Texas,  as  it 
should  have  been  there  several  days  previous.  He  com 
plimented  me  on  my  good  riding  and  assured  me  work  at 
top  wages,  so  long  as  I  wished  to  say.  He  offered  me 
a  horse  to  ride  to  town,  but  I  insisted  on  walking. 

That  night  my  bones  ached  from  the  strenuous  day's 
work  as  a  bronco  "buster." 

Next  morning  I  boarded  a  train  for  Denver.  On  the 
same  train  was  the  Rev.  Mr.  Wraxhall  and  his  wife  re 
turning  home,  but  I  kept  them  from  seeing  me. 

Other  men  were  then  put  on  the  case  to  shadow  the 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  89 

depot  in  Longmont  and  also  the  Rev.  Wraxhall's  resi 
dence,  so  that  we  would  know  if  our  man  came  to  Denver 
to  visit  his  preacher  brother,  or  left  the  country. 

In  the  course  of  time  the  wounded  man  in  Helena, 
Montana,  was  out  of  danger,  and  then  the  operation  was 
discontinued. 

Not  long  after  this,  Frank  Wraxhall  shot  and  killed 
the  noted  prize-fighter  Clow,  in  a  Denver  saloon,  and 
shortly  after  this,  his  father,  General  Wraxhall,  a  noted 
pioneer  of  Colorado,  died. 

Since  then  I  have  lost  track  of  the  Wraxhalls. 

Soon  after  finishing  the  Wraxhall  case,  I  took  my  first 
sleep  in  the  "bull-pen"  at  the  Denver  city  jail;  and  it  is 
rightly  named  the  "bull-pen."  That  night  it  contained 
about  twenty  of  the  worst  specimens  of  humanity,  both 
black  and  white,  that  it  was  ever  my  misfortune  to  be 
housed  with  in  one  small  room.  I  envied  my  partner 
operative,  Blummer,  who  had  been  put  alone  in  a  ste'el 
cage  across  the  hall,  as  he  was  taken  for  a  desperado, 
owing  to  the  fact  that  he  had  on  two  big  pistols  and  a 
bowie  knife.  I  had  slipped  my  pearl-handled  pistol  and 
bowie  knife  to  Blummer,  thinking  that  he  had  a  better 
chance  than  I  to  get  away  from  the  city  policemen  who 
had  surrounded  us.  But  he  ran  into  the  arms  of  a  big 
city  "fly-cop,"  who  took  him  to  jail,  and  put  him  in  the 
steel  cage,  while  poor  me,  not  being  armed,  had  to  go 
in  with  the  drunken  hobo  bunch. 

Blummer  and  I  had  been  hiding  in  an  ash-pit  in  a  dark 
alley  to  catch  people  stealing  silk  from  the  Daniels- 
Fisher  dry  goods  store.  We  were  discovered  and 
arrested  as  suspicious  characters.  We  were  certainly  a 


90  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

tough  looking  pair,  as  we  had  put  on  the  worst  clothes 
we  could  find.  We  had  orders  not  to  disclose  our  identity, 
for  fear  that  the  policeman  on  that  beat  might  be  standing 
in  with  the  negro  watchman  who  was  suspected  of 
throwing  the  silk  out  of  an  upper  story  window  to  the 
thieves  in  the  alley  below.  They  were  caught  a  few 
nights  later. 

Next  morning  Superintendent  McCartney  came  down 
to  the  jail  and  fixed  matters  with  Chief  of  Police  Henry 
Grady  and  Lieutenant  of  Police  James  Hummer,  and  we 
were  liberated. 


CHAPTER  V 

Two  WEALTHY  MINE-OWNERS  OF  TUSCARORA,  NEVADA, 
BLOWN  UP  WITH  DYNAMITE — A  CONFESSION  SE 
CURED  AFTER  NINE  MONTHS  OF  STRENUOUS  LIFE 
IN  NEVADA  AND  INDIAN  TERRITORY. 

During  the  month  of  August,  1889,  Superintendent 
McCartney  called  me  into  his  private  office  where  I  was 
introduced  to  Mr.  Geo.  Felling  of  the  firm  of  Prinz  & 
Pelling,  of  Tuscarora,  Nevada.  I  was  given  the  outline 
of  a  case  on  which  I  was  detailed  to  work. 

It  was  explained  that  Mr.  C.  W.  Prinz  and  Mr.  Geo. 
Pelling  were  wealthy  mine  and  mill  owners,  and  that  on 
a  certain  night  during  the  previous  spring,  dynamite  had 
been  put  under  their  residences  and  "touched  off;"  that 
Mr.  Pelling  and  his  mattress  went  up  through  the  roof 
and  landed  right  side  up  with  care  in  the  middle  of  the 
street.  He  was  still  wrapped  in  the  quilts  and  blankets, 
and  the  shock  put  him  out  of  business  for  awhile,  but 
otherwise  he  was  not  hurt. 

Not  so  lucky  was  Mr.  Prinz.  He  was  badly  used  up, 
but  soon  recovered.  He,  too,  was  blown  out  into  the 
street  but  not  on  a  feather  bed. 

Knowing  that  they  had  an  organized  gang  of  desperate 
enemies  to  deal  with,  they  sent  to  San  Francisco  for  two 
of  the  best  detectives  who  could  be  procured  to  ferret  out 
the  criminals.  Two  detectives  from  a  local  detective 
agency  were  sent  to  Tuscarora  to  work  secretly.  In  ad- 

91 


92  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

dition,  a  large  reward  was  offered  through  the  news 
papers,  for  evidence  that  would  convict.  Several  months' 
work  by  the  detectives  had  failed  to  show  up  even  a  clue 
as  to  who  were  the  guilty  parties,  and  the  sleuths  being 
suspected,  they  were  called  home,  their  chances  of  success 
being  doubtful. 

Then  it  was  decided  that  Mr.  Felling  go  to  Denver  and 
consult  with  Mr.  James  McCartney,  and  if  possible,  get 
a  man  who  jcould  do  the  work. 

At  that  time  the  Dickenson  Agency  had  no  branch 
office  west  of  Denver. 

Mr.  Felling  explained  to  me  that  I  was  undertaking  a 
ticklish  job,  as  their  enemies  were  on  their  guard  and 
watching  for  detectives. 

I  was  instructed  to  take  the  Union  Pacific  Railway  for 
San  Francisco,  while  Mr.  Felling  would  go  by  a  southern 
route  and  stop  off  for  a  visit  in  southern  California.  I 
was  told  to  put  up  at  the  Palace  Hotel  in  Frisco  and  re 
main  there  until  Mr.  Felling  arrived. 

For  the  next  few  days  my  time  was  spent  in  selling  our 
furniture,  and  starting  Mamie  and  little  Viola  off  for 
Springfield,  Missouri,  where  my  wife's  father,  H.  Clay 
Lloyd,  and  her  step-mother  lived.  Poor  Mamie's  health 
had  begun  to  fail,  and  the  doctors  decided  an  operation 
for  pleurisy  was  necessary  to  save  her  life.  Her  father, 
when  he  heard  of  it,  begged  that  she  be  sent  there  to  be 
operated  on  by  his  family  physician,  one  of  the  best  in 
the  land. 

After  seeing  my  wife  and  baby  off  on  an  eastbound 
train,  I  boarded  a  flyer  for  the  extreme  edge  of  the 
Golden  West.  My  trip  would  have  been  a  treat,  as  I  had 


93 

never  been  to  California,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  worry 
of  Mamie's  illness  and  the  fact  that  she  had  to  undergo 
an  operation  without  my  presence  to  comfort  her. 

In  Frisco  I  put  up  at  the  Palace,  the  swell  hotel  of  the 
city.  I  was  there  a  week  before  Mr.  Felling  arrived, 
therefore  had  an  opportunity  to  see  all  the  sights,  which 
were  new  to  me. 

I  was  furnished  with  $250  expense  money  by  Mr. 
Felling,  and  he  then  departed  for  Tuscarora,  Nevada.  I 
soon  followed  dressed  in  rough  cowboy  clothes. 

At  Elko,  Nevada,  I  left  the  train  and  boarded  a  stage 
for  a  fifty  mile  ride  into  the  mountains.  Phil.  Snyder, 
an  old-timer  of  Tuscarora,  and  whose  name  had  been 
given  to  me  by  Mr.  Felling  as  a  possible  friend  to  the 
dynamiters  who  blew  up  Prinz's  and  Felling's  homes,  was 
a  fellow  passenger  on  the  stage,  and  I  won  his  applause 
and  friendship  by  making  a  crack  shot  with  my  old  Colt's 
45  pistol. 

We  were  sitting  on  the  seat  with  the  driver,  when  a 
coyote  jumped  up  about  100  yards  distant.  I  made  one 
shot  while  the  stage  was  on  the  move,  and  Mr.  Coyote 
quit  business  by  tumbling  over  dead.  It  was  an  accidental 
shot  of  course,  but  no  one  but  myself  knew  it. 

In  Tuscarora,  a  lively  mining  camp,  Snyder  pointed 
me  out  to  his  friends  as  a  cowboy  just  from  Texas,  who 
was  a  crack  shot  with  a  pistol.  This  gave  me  a  standing 
in  the  lower  crust  of  society.  Soon  after  my  arrival,  I 
was  out  in  the  hills  with  Tim  W.,  one  of  Prinz  and 
Felling's  most  bitter  enemies.  He  told  me  that  Snyder 
and  the  stage  driver  had  given  me  a  big  send-off  as  a 
crack  shot.  He  asked  me  to  show  him  what  I  could  do. 


94  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

He  pointed  out  a  pine  knot  in  a  board  on  a  fence  about 
50  yards  distant,  and  asked  me  to  hit  that.  Here  was  a 
chance  to  make  myself  solid  with  one  of  Prinz  and 
Felling's  enemies,  providing  I  could  make  another  acci 
dental  shot.  It  was  worth  trying,  so  I  cut  loose  off-hand, 
and  out  went  the  pine  knot,  which  was  the  size  of  a  silver 
dollar.  He  begged  me  to  try  again  at  another  mark,  but 
I  had  sense  enough  to  let  well  enough  alone.  My  reputa 
tion  was  made  and  I  decided  to  take  no  more  chances. 

In  order  to  be  away  from  town  for  awhile,  I  got  per 
mission  from  a  butcher  named  Morrison,  to  live  on  his 
ranch  a  few  miles  out.  I  bought  a  horse  and  saddle  and 
used  to  ride  into  town  once  in  awhile. 

Here  was  a  new  experience  for  me,  living  with  a 
Chinaman  who  could  only  talk  a  few  words  of  English. 
He  and  I  were  the  sole  occupants  of  the  ranch  except 
when  Mr.  Morrison  came  out  to  butcher  stock.  Mr. 
Pigtail  and  I  sat  at  the  same  table,  but  ate  different  kinds 
of  food.  He  used  a  couple  of  chop-sticks  to  throw  the 
rice,  etc.,  into  his  mouth.  It  would  have  been  fun  for  a 
man  up  a  tree  to  look  down  and  see  us  joking  and  trying 
to  talk  to  each  other. 

Finally,  after  I  had  become  well  established  in  the 
mining  camp,  I  moved  into  town,  and  soon  after,  I  re 
ceived  a  letter  from  Mr.  C.  W.  Prinz  requesting  that  I 
meet  him  in  an  old  abandoned  mine  about  half  a  mile 
from  town  on  a  certain  night.  A  diagram  of  the  incline- 
shaft  which  I  was  to  go  down  was  enclosed  in  the  letter. 
He  explained  that  he  would  go  around  through  the  main 
workings  of  the  mine  so  as  not  to  be  seen. 

It  was  a  dark  night,  but  I  found  the  mouth  of  the  old 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  95 

shaft  from  the  description  given  in  the  letter.  But  to 
descend  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth  through  a  dark  hole 
5  by  7  feet,  that  I  knew  nothing  about,  required  a  lot  of 
fool  courage,  and  therefore  I  was  quite  awhile  getting 
started.  It  was  a  great  relief  when  I  reached  the  bottom 
of  the  rotten  ladder  which  had  not  been  used  for  several 
years.  The  distance  to  the  bottom  was  about  200  feet. 
On  the  way  down,  pieces  of  rock  became  loosened  and 
rolled  to  the  bottom,  making  a  lonesome  noise  which  sent 
cold  shivers  down  my  back.  The  ladder  was  damp  and 
slippery  and  some  of  the  rounds  were  missing.  A  walk 
of  a  few  hundred  feet  through  a  drift  brought  me  to  Mr. 
Price,  who  had  arrived  on  time.  About  midnight  we 
separated,  each  going  the  way  we  had  come.  On  reach 
ing  daylight,  I  vowed  never  to  meet  another  client  in  a 
hole  that  I  knew  nothing  about. 

During  the  fall,  Phil.  Snyder  and  I  went  out  into  the 
mountains  to  hunt  deer  and  grouse,  and  we  bagged  some 
of  both.  We  were  gone  a  week.  On  returning,  I  rode  out 
to  "Wild  Bill's"  camp  on  Lone  Mountain,  a  distance  of 
about  twenty-five  miles.  I  had  previously  made  friends 
with  "Wild  Bill"  who  was  an  enemy  of  Price  and  Pelling 
and  stood  in  with  the  gang  who  had  blown  them  up. 

"Wild  Bill"  was  a  genius  when  it  came  to  working  with 
steel.  He  was  a  counterfeiter  and  made  his  own  plates  to 
print  counterfeit  paper  money.  He  made  me  a  steel 
candle-stick  with  half  a  dozen  instruments  combined, 
which  I  still  keep  as  a  souvenir. 

After  this,  I  made  many  trips  to  "Wild  Bill's"  camp. 
We  lived  on  nice  fat  calf-meat  which  we  would  steal 
from  bands  of  range  cattle. 


96  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

From  "Wild  Bill"  I  learned  some  valuable  pointers  as 
to  who  blew  up  Prinz  and  Felling.  I  finally  selected  Tim 
W.  as  a  good  subject  for  me  to  work  on  to  get  a  con 
fession  from.  I  made  a  confident  of  him  and  told  him 
that  my  father  in  Texas  was  rich  and  that  I  had  got  into 
a  killing  scrape  and  had  to  skip  out.  I  explained  that 
my  father  sent  money  to  me  through  two  friends,  Smith 
and  Long,  of  Reno  City,  Oklahoma;  that  these  friends 
had  money  now  of  mine  in  their  possession,  but  I  didn't 
want  to  take  chances  on  having  it  sent  direct  to  me  at 
Tuscarora,  even  though  I  was  under  an  assumed  name. 
I  was  using  the  name  of  Chas.  T.  Leon. 

Poor  Tim  W.  bit  at  my  bait  and  agreed  that  the  money 
could  be  sent  to  him  and  then  he  would  hand  it  to  me  on 
the  sly.  He  promised  to  keep  the  matter  secret,  and  he 
did  so.  He  felt  honored  at  being  trusted  with  my  liberty 
and  money. 

I  then  wrote  to  Superintendent  McCartney  and  had 
him  send  $150  to  my  friends  Smith  and  Long  in  Reno 
City,  with  instructions  that  they  send  it  to  Tim  W.  I 
also  wrote  Mr.  Smith  a  letter  on  the  subject.  In  due 
time  a  money  order  for  $150  came  to  Tim  W.  through 
the  Post  Office.  He  cashed  the  money  order  and  handed 
me  the  money.  That  night  he  and  I  got  on  a  big 
"hurrah"  and  I  spent  money  freely  with  his  friends  who 
were  all  enemies  to  our  clients.  After  this,  all  the  money 
which  I  spent  came  through  Tim  W. 

Tim  was  working  as  a  miner  for  the  Smith  Bros,  on 
their  rich  gold  mine.  He  would  fill  his  pockets  with 
some  of  the  rich  ore  worth  about  $10  a  pound,  on  coming 
off  shift.  Of  course  he  made  a  confident  of  me  as  I  had 
trusted  him. 


'A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  97 

Tim  had  a  sweetheart,  a  Mrs.  B.,  who  was  a  widow  and 
owned  a  small  lodging  house.  He  and  I  roomed  in  her 
building,  but  we  were  not  in  the  same  class  when  it  came 
to  burning  midnight  oil  and  basking  in  the  sunshine  of 
her  sweet  smiles. 

Late  in  the  fall  I  put  a  hungry  man  on  his  feet  by 
helping  him  "salt"  a  mine. 

One  day  I  saw  a  man  standing  for  hours  in  one  place 
without  moving.  His  features  showed  worry.  I  stepped 
up  to  him  and  invited  him  into  a  saloon  to  have  a  drink 
with  me,  my  object  being  to  cheer  him  up.  Turning 
round  and  facing  me  he  said : 

"Partner,  I  would  die  before  I  would  beg,  but  if  you 
will  give  me  the  price  of  my  drink  I  will  get  something 
to  eat  with  it.  That  will  do  me  more  good  than  a  drink." 
He  then  informed  me  that  his  name  was  Harnihan,  or 
a  name  similar  to  that;  that  he  had  come  from  Angels 
Camp,  California,  where  he  worked  for  the  millionaire 
mine-owner  Lane;  that  he  had  paid  his  last  dollar  for  a 
stage-ride  from  the  railroad  and  that  he  hadn't  tasted 
food  since  leaving  Elko  the  morning  before,  and  that  he 
had  hoped  to  get  work  but  had  failed.  I  slipped  a  dollar 
into  his  hand  and  told  him  to  call  for  more  when  that 
was  gone.  He  thanked  me  kindly. 

When  a  boy,  I  had  read  the  Bible  a  little,  and  recalled 
a  passage  therein  about  there  being  no  harm  to  shear  a 
lamb  for  the  benefit  of  mankind.  I  either  read  this  in 
the  Bible  or  dreamed  it.  At  any  rate,  I  concluded  to  do 
a  little  shearing  act,  so  as  to  give  Mr.  Harnihan  a  lift  in 
the  world,  as  he  seemed  to  be  a  nice  fellow  with  a  proud 
spirit. 


98  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Morrison,  the  butcher,  and  his  partner  in  the  saloon 
business,  were  selected  as  the  lambs  to  be  shorn. 

I  had  never  salted  a  mine,  but  had  received  valuable 
lessons  from  Jacky  in  the  Mudsill  mine-salting  case. 

These  two  men  owned  a  mining  claim  with  a  3O-foot 
hole  in  the  ground,  which  they  called  a  mine.  I  induced 
them  to  give  Harnihan  a  working  bond  on  this  mine. 
Harnihan,  who  was  a  fine  looking,  healthy  man,  agreed 
to  follow  any  instructions  that  I  might  give.  After  work 
ing  in  the  shaft  a  short  time,  he  asked  Morrison  to  have 
some  of  the  ore  assayed  so  as  to  see  if  it  was  improving. 
Morrison  agreed  to  go  up  and  sample  the  vein  next  morn 
ing  and  have  an  assay  made  of  the  ore.  I  gave  Harni 
han  some  of  the  rich  ore  which  Tim  W.  had  been  steal 
ing  from  the  Smith  mine,  and  told  him  to  sprinkle  it 
moderately  over  the  bottom  of  the  shaft  that  night.  I 
had  previously  pulverized  this  ore  into  fine  powder. 

The  next  morning  Morrison  went  to  the  mine  in  the 
edge  of  town,  with  Harnihan.  He  took  a  sample  from 
the  small  vein  in  the  bottom  of  the  shaft  and  then  re 
turned  to  town.  I  made  it  my  duty  to  watch  Morrison 
take  the  sample  to  the  assay  office,  and  I  saw  him  go  there 
in  the  evening  after  the  assay  certificate.  He  came  out 
in  an  excited  manner.  I  stepped  into  his  saloon  ahead 
of  him  to  watch  proceedings.  He  called  his  partner  into 
one  corner  and  showed  him  the  assayer's  certificate.  It 
would  require  too  much  space  to  record  these  men's 
monkeyshines  up  to  the  time  Harnihan  came  from  work 
at  5  P.  M. 

I  met  Harnihan  and  informed  him  that  the  lambs  were 
tied  on  the  block,  ready  for  the  shearing,  but  advised  him 
not  to  accept  their  first  offer. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  99 

Morrison  told  Harnihan  that  the  ore  had  improved  just 
a  few  dollars  per  ton.  He  offered  to  pay  for  what  work 
had  been  done  on  the  mine  at  regular  wages,  and  release 
Harnihan  from  his  interest,  but  Harnihan,  as  per  my  in 
structions,  told  him  that  he  would  work  another  week 
and  then  send  a  sample  of  the  ore  to  Burlingame  of 
Denver,  for  a  good  test.  This  did  the  work.  At  9  P.  M. 
Harnihan  had  $600  in  gold  in  his  pocket.  He  insisted  on 
my  taking  half  of  it,  but  I  refused  to  accept  "tainted" 
money. 

That  night  Harnihan  got  on  a  glorious  drunk,  and  next 
day  I  sold  him  my  horse  and  saddle  at  a  fancy  price  and 
he  "hit"  the  road  for  a  lower  altitude.  I  advised  him  to 
cut  across  country  for  fear  the  cat  might  get  out  of  the 
bag;  but  it  didn't  for  several  days.  Then  the  air  was 
blue  with  curse  words  for  a  whole  month. 

On  riding  away,  Harnihan  threw  me  a  $20  gold  piece 
and  told  me  to  take  a  drink  on  him.  I  have  never  seen 
or  heard  of  him  to  this  day.  Thus  the  world  moves  and 
we  all  act  our  little  part  on  the  big  stage. 

I  found  out  from  Morrison,  between  curse-words,  that 
the  salted  sample  showed  a  value  of  $1,500  per  ton  of 
ore,  and  that  he  supposed  he  was  a  millionaire;  that  the 
sudden  fall  to  poverty  was  what  hurt  the  worst.  He 
never  suspected  me,  and  if  he  sees  this  the  air  will  be 
impregnated  with  oaths  again. 

On  Christmas  day  I  took  my  first  sleigh  ride,  and  for 
a  few  minutes  I  was  "going  some." 

The  liveryman  had  just  received  a  brand-new  sleigh. 
I  hired  it  and  a  spirited  team  of  horses  and  took  Miss 
Aggie  Dougherty  for  a  ride.  We  drove  ten  miles  out 


100  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

on  the  stage  road  and  then  turned  back.  The  stage  and 
freight  road  was  a  mass  of  packed  snow.  On  each  side 
the  soft  snow  was  from  5  to  10  feet  deep.  On  one  side 
of  the  road  about  every  hundred  feet  the  stage  company 
had  a  willow  stuck  into  the  snow  so  that  on  a  stormy 
night  the  driver  could  keep  on  the  road.  One  of  these 
slender  poles  was  bending  over  and  the  team  ran  into 
it.  The  end  flew  up  and  caught  one  of  the  horses  in  the 
flank.  Then  there  was  "something  doing,"  and  we  began 
to  "go  some."  If  I  had  had  the  use  of  both  hands  the 
team  might  have  been  stopped  before  they  got  under  full 
headway.  My  left  arm  was  around  the  girl's  waist,  to 
keep  her  from  falling  out,  as  the  sleigh  had  no  side 
boards.  Before  my  left  arm  could  be  disentangled  and  put 
back  in  its  proper  place,  the  team  of  flying  broncos  made 
a  sharp  turn  off  the  road  and  went  out  of  sight  into  the 
deep  snow.  The  sleigh  naturally  went  over  them,  high 
up  in  the  air,  upside  down. 

While  standing  on  my  head  in  the  air,  I  could  see  my 
old  Colt's  45  pistol,  which  had  been  carried  loose  in  my 
hip  pocket,  flying  through  space.  At  this  place  the  snow 
was  about  10  feet  deep.  I  found  poor  little  Aggie  stand 
ing  on  her  head  in  a  hole  that  she  had  made  in  the  snow. 
I  had  made  a  hole  of  my  own,  so  it  took  me  quite  a  while 
to  reach  Aggie.  By  the  time  I  got  her  on  her  feet  into 
the  hard  road  the  team  was  a  couple  of  miles  away,  go 
ing  like  lightning.  They  had  floundered  back  into  the 
road. 

In  order  to  find  my  pistol  I  had  to  swim  out  to  the  small 
hole  where  it  had  disappeared  in  the  snow,  and  then  do 
some  fancy  diving. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  101 

A  three-mile  walk  brought  us  to  where  the  team  lay 
tangled  up  in  the  harness.  Both  were  on  their  sides.  We 
had  passed  pieces  of  the  sleigh  scattered  all  along  the 
road.  Therefore,  there  wasn't  much  of  it  attached  to  the 
team.  After  the  pretty  sorrels  were  on  their  feet,  we 
started  for  town  afoot,  leading  them.  They  had  never 
been  ridden,  so  we  had  to  walk  the  five  or  six  miles. 

On  reaching  town  a  large  crowd  greeted  us  and  made 
me  treat. 

The  liveryman  let  me  off  lightly,  by  only  charging  me 
$50  for  the  half  day's  sleigh  ride.  He  said  the  experi 
ence  was  worth  something  to  a  beginner.  I  thought  so 
too,  for  in  future,  I  vowed  that  side-boards  would  have 
to  be  put  on  the  sleigh  to  hold  the  girl  in  place  before 
it  could  be  hired  to  Yours  Truly. 

The  fact  that  I  was  out  riding  with  an  i8-year  old  girl 
while  my  sick  wife  was  just  recovering  from  a  successful 
operation,  may  seem  naughty  to  you,  gentle  reader,  but 
you  must  bear  in  mind  that  there  are  tricks  in  all  pro 
fessions  but  ours,  and  they  are  all  tricks.  The  truth  is, 
I  was  working  on  old  man  Dougherty,  and  Aggie  was 
only  a  side-issue  to  win  points  in  the  game. 

In  the  spring,  Tim  W.  and  I  made  preparation  to  leave 
for  the  Wichita  Mountains  in  the  western  part  of  the 
Indian  Territory,  on  a  prospecting  trip  for  gold.  I  had 
told  Tim  wonderful  stories  of  gold  being  found  in  these 
mountains  by  soldiers  and  hunters. 

I  had  concluded  that  the  best  way  to  get  a  confession 
out  of  Tim  would  be  to  get  him  in  a  strange  country 
where  he  could  talk  with  no  one  but  myself. 

When  his  gang  found  out  that  he  was  going  to  the 


102  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Indian  Territory  with  me,  they  became  frightened  for 
fear  I  might  be  a  detective.  They  had  heard  that  Mr. 
Prinz  said  he  would  spend  $150,000  to  find  out  who  the 
dynamiters  of  Tuscarora  were.  For  several  days  and 
nights  previous  to  our  start,  the  gang  held  secret  meet 
ings  in  Mason's  drug  store,  trying  to  persuade  Tim  to 
give  me  the  "shake."  They  said  it  was  positively  known 
that  I  was  a  detective,  but  Tim  insisted  on  their  pro 
ducing  the  evidence. 

Among  the  gang  was  a  hard  character  by  the  name  of 
"Black  Jack,"  and  he  made  it  hot  for  poor  Tim.  He 
swore  that  he  should  not  go.  Mrs.  B.  also  worked  on 
Tim  to  dissuade  him.  Finally,  everything  was  ready  for 
an  early  start  on  the  next  morning's  stage.  That  night 
they  held  another  secret  meeting  in  Mason's  drug  store, 
and  Tim  got  very  little  sleep.  As  a  last  resort  they  told 
Tim  that  they  had  positive  evidence  that  all  the  money 
which  I  had  spent  in  Tuscarora  came  from  Prinz  and 
Felling's  agents  in  San  Francisco,  and  that  if  he  would 
wait  over  another  week  they  would  produce  my  signature 
to  the  receipts  for  the  money  received  at  different  times. 
Here's  where  the  gang  fell  down.  Tim  told  them  that 

they  were  d d  liars,  but  he  wouldn't  tell  them  how  he 

knew.  He  told  me  all  about  their  meetings  later,  when 
we  were  on  the  road. 

Next  morning  we  boarded  the  stage  for  Elko,  and  most 
of  the  gang  were  at  the  Post  Office  to  see  us  off,  and  to 
make  one  last  effort  to  change  Tim's  mind.  The  faces 
of  some  of  the  gang  appeared  pale  and  care-worn,  and 
"Black  Jack"  looked  daggers  at  me. 

The  whip  was  cracked  and  away  we  went. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  103 

i 

In  Elko,  Tim  and  I  boarded  a  train  for  Denver, 
Colorado.  We  kept  the  sleeping  car  porter  busy  furnish 
ing  us  with  drinks  while  en  route. 

Tim's  wealth  consisted  of  $600  in  cash  and  several 
hundred  dollars  worth  of  rich  ore  that  he  had  stolen 
from  the  Smith  Brothers'  mine,  which  he  had  taken  along 
to  sell  in  Denver. 

A  few  days  were  spent  in  Denver,  where  I  was  under 
a  strain  for  fear  of  meeting  some  one  who  might  call  me 
by  my  own  name  in  the  presence  of  Tim.  I  was  indeed 
glad  when  we  boarded  the  Denver  &  Fort  Worth  train 
for  Wichita  Falls,  Texas. 

In  Wichita  Falls  I  went  to  see  my  old  friends  Charlie 
Word,  Liash  Stephens  and  Tom  Jones,  cattle  men,  to 
tell  them  of  my  new  name,  and  to  caution  them  so  they 
wouldn't  address  me  by  my  own  name  where  Tim  W. 
might  hear  it. 

About  ten  years  previous  I  had  "bossed"  a  large  herd 
of  long-horned  cattle  "up  the  Chisholm  trail,"  from 
southwestern  Texas,  for  Charlie  Word. 

On  my  arrival  at  Wichita  Falls  I  left  Tim  at  the  hotel 
while  I  went  to  spend  the  evening  until  bed  time  with 
Mr.  Word  and  his  family.  I  had  last  seen  Mrs.  Word 
in  San  Antonio,  Texas,  in  1879,  when  she  was  a  beautiful 
black-haired  young  woman  with  a  first-born  in  her  arms. 
Now  this  first-born  was  almost  a  young  lady. 

Word  and  I  sat  up  late  "harking  back"  to  the  days  of 
big  herds  on  the  "Chisholm  trail"  between  southern 
Texas  and  Kansas. 

In  the  Word  herd  which  I  had  charge  of  there  were 
about  3000  head  of  cattle  with  about  ten  cowboys,  and 


104  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

five  horses  to  the  man,  and  last,  but  not  least,  a  cook  to 
dish  up  the  "grub"  and  drive  the  "grub-wagon." 

In  "harking  back"  I  thought  of  my  first  pistol  duel, 
which  died  before  it  was  fought,  but  its  dying  was  no 
fault  of  mine  or  my  opponent's,  a  hot-headed  Southerner 
by  the  name  of  Best,  who  was  one  of  the  cowboys. 

He  had  loaned  Mr.  Word  some  money  to  buy  cattle, 
and  had  agreed  to  make  a  "hand,"  that  is,  do  full  duty 
at  regular  wages  on  the  trail.  When  passing  Fort  Worth, 
Word,  who  had  come  around  by  rail  on  his  way  to 
Kansas,  stopped  off  to  see  how  we  were  getting  along. 
He  drove  out  in  a  buggy  to  where  we  were  to  stop  over 
night.  On  his  arrival  Best  and  I  had  a  fuss  over  the  way 
I  made  him  do  the  full  work  of  a  cowboy  all  the  way  "up 
the  trail."  In  the  threats  which  followed  I  told  Best  to 
get  his  pistol  and  we  would  shoot  it  out.  He  brooded 
over  the  matter  for  an  hour  or  so  and  finally  told  Word 
that  he  or  I  had  to  die  before  the  sun  went  down.  Word 
tried  to  reason  with  him,  but  it  was  no  use.  He  was 
mad  and  meant  it.  He  insisted  that  Word  notify  me  that 
if  I  didn't  agree  to  fight  a  regular  duel  that  he  intended 
to  kill  me  any  way  before  the  sun  set.  Word  notified  me 
and  it  was  agreed  that  I  wait  until  the  sun  was  setting 
and  then  stand  back  to  back  and  walk  forward  ten  paces, 
and  wheel  and  fire,  until  one  or  both  were  dead.  We 
both  began  cleaning  our  pistols,  as  the  sun  was  only  an 
hour  high.  Word  put  in  his  time  trying  to  persuade  us 
to  shake  hands  and  call  the  duel  off,  but  the  stubborn 
bump,  which  the  phrenologist  in  Caldwell,  Kansas,  said 
was  like  a  mule's,  prevented  me  from  backing  out.  I 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  105 

hoped  though,  that  Best  would  "crawfish/'  that  is,  back 
out,  for  I  didn't  want  to  die,  even  a  "little  bit." 

When  the  sun  looked  to  be  only  a  few  inches  above 
the  horizon,  I  imagined  that  I  could  feel  myself  growing 
pale  behind  the  ears,  but  "praise  the  Lord,"  here  came 
Word  from  behind  the  wagon  where  Best  was  sitting  on 
a  pile  of  bedding,  with  the  good  news  that  Best  had 
agreed  to  shake  hands  with  me  and  do  his  duty  the  bal 
ance  of  the  way  up  the  trail.  Thus  Mr.  Word  had  won 
a  bloodless  battle. 

Two  days  later  Tim  and  I  had  bought  a  horse  each, 
and  started  northeast  for  the  Wichita  Mountains,  a  dis 
tance  of  two  days'  ride.  We  crossed  Red  River  at  the 
Burnett  ranch  and  were  then  in  the  Indian  Territory. 
At  night  we  camped  on  the  plains,  and  the  next  evening 
we  struck  the  mountains  and  had  an  old  Indian  woman 
cook  a  turkey  gobbler  which  I  had  killed.  She  fried  the 
breast  of  the  turkey  and  made  a  batch  of  bread  for  us. 
The  old  dame's  hands  were  black  with  dirt  and  she  struck 
them  into  the  dough  without  washing  them.  We  were 
too  hungry  though,  to  make  a  kick. 

From  here  we  went  to  Quanah  Parker's  camp  on  the 
head  of  West  Cache  Creek.  Quanah  Parker  was  a  big 
chief  of  the  7,000  Comanche  Indians  scattered  around  the 
borders  of  the  Wichita  Mountains.  They  don't  like  to 
live  in  the  mountains,  therefore  pitch  their  camps  on  the 
edge  next  to  the  plains.  Quanah  Parker  is  half  white, 
he  being  the  child  of  Cynthia  Ann  Parker,  the  white  girl 
stolen  in  Texas  by  the  Comanches  before  the  war.  He  is 
over  six  feet  tall  and  sports  a  mustache  which  can  be 
seen  with  the  naked  eye.  At  this  mustache  he  keeps  tug- 


106  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

ging,  when  talking  in  broken  English  with  his  white 
brothers. 

Tim  and  I  rode  through  the  Wichita  Mountains  to 
Anadarko,  the  Indian  Agent's  headquarters.  I  made  a 
confident  of  Indian  Agent  C.  E.  Adams,  and  he  gave  me 
a  pass  so  that  Tim  and  I  could  stay  on  the  Reservation 
outside  the  mountains.  He  could  not  give  me  a  permit 
to  go  into  the  mountains,  as  there  -was  supposed  to  be 
gold  in  there  and  white  men  were  kept  out  by  the  Indian 
Police. 

From  Anadarko,  Tim  and  I  rode  to  Fort  Sill,  the  army 
post  on  the  east  side  of  Wichita  Mountains,  where  we 
went  to  lay  in  such  supplies  as  could  be  carried  behind 
our  saddles  as  we  had  no  pack-horse. 

For  the  next  month  Tim  and  I  led  a  strenuous  life  in 
the  mountains,  dodging  the  Indian  Police  who  were  try 
ing  to  capture  us,  but  our  horses  were  too  swift.  We 
would  camp  on  the  highest  peaks  from  whence  we  could 
watch  them  hunting  us.  We  had  a  fine  time  killing 
game.  Turkeys  were  as  plentiful  as  fowl  around  a 
Kansas  barnyard.  We  could  lie  in  bed  any  morning  and 
kill  a  gobbler  for  breakfast.  They  were  not  killed  by  the 
Indians,  as  they  regard  them  as  evil  spirits. 

Tim  and  I  named  some  of  the  highest  peaks.  One  in 
the  western  part  of  the  range  was  named  after  me.  We 
called  it  Mt.  Leon,  and  up  on  its  highest  point  we  planted 
an  elk  horn,  around  which  was  wrapped  a  copy  of  the 
Tuscarora,  Nevada,  daily  paper,  also  a  slip  with  our 
names  and  the  new  name  of  the  peak  on  it.  I  often 
wonder  if  these  elk  horns  have  been  found  since  the 
opening  of  these  mountains  to  white  settlers. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  107 

On  two  occasions  I  left  Tim  in  the  mountains  while  I 
rode  the  25  miles  to  Fort  Sill  after  "grub,"  and  our  mail. 
Poor  Tim  never  received  any  of  the  many  letters  sent  to 
him  by  his  friends  and  sweetheart,  for  I  started  a  little 
post  office  of  my  own  and  placed  them  in  a  pigeon-hole 
under  a  rock. 

The  letters  sent  by  Tim  to  be  mailed  by  me  were  treated 
likewise.  Most  of  the  letters  warned  Tim  to  "shake"  me 
and  come  home,  as  they  had  positive  information  that  I 
was  a  Dickenson  detective. 

On  my  second  trip  into  Fort  Sill  I  found  Tim's  sweet 
heart  Mrs.  B.,  there,  but  she  didn't  get  to  see  me.  She 
had  dropped  about  half  a  dozen  letters  in  the  post  office 
telling  Tim  of  her  arrival  to  save  him  from  the  clutches 
of  that  Dickenson  detective,  Leon.  I  felt  sorry  for  the 
poor  woman,  but  all  I  could  do  was  to  shed  a  silent  tear 
over  her  pathetic  letters. 

After  this  when  we  needed  "grub,"  I  took  Tim  with 
me  and  we  rode  to  the  little  town  of  Navajo,  Texas, 
across  the  north  fork  of  Red  River  in  Greer  County. 

At  one  time  old  Quanah  Parker  had  deputy  United 
States  marshals  searching  for  us. 

We  failed  to  find  a  gold  mine,  and  as  I  had  got  a  full 
confession  from  Tim  about  the  blowing  up  of  Price  and 
Pelling,  we  shook  the  dust  of  the  mountains  from  our 
feet  and  landed  in  Union  City,  Oklahoma,  a  boom  town 
on  the  South  Canadian. 

Finally,  Tim  and  I  arrived  in  the  booming  town  of  El 
Reno.  We  put  up  at  the  Stanley  livery  stable.  Here 
young  Todd,  whom  I  knew  in  Caldwell,  Kansas,  a  few 
years  before,  asked  if  my  name  was  not  Charlie  Siringo. 


108  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

When  I  told  him  no,  he  replied:  "Well  you  look  like 
Charlie,  all  right  enough."  Tim  was  present  when  the 
question  was  asked. 

We  picked  up  our  "warbags"  and  started  up  town, 
walking  in  the  center  of  the  main  street.  Before  reaching 
the  hotel  a  large  man  standing  with  a  group  of  men  in 
front  of  a  saloon  yelled  out  at  the  top  of  his  voice: 

"Well  I'll  be  d d,  if  there  ain't  Charlie  Siringo!"  He 

then  started  across  from  an  opposite  corner  to  meet  us. 
As  he  approached  he  held  out  his  hand,  saying:  "Well, 

Charlie  Siringo,  what  in  the  h 1  are  you  doing  here?" 

By  this  time  he  was  facing  me,  but  I  didn't  put  out  my 
hand.  I  said :  "I  reckon  you  are  mistaken,  partner."  He 

replied :  "Not  by  a  d d  sight,  Charlie.  I  would  know 

your  hide  in  a  tan  yard  in  h 1."  Still  I  didn't  put  out 

my  hand,  and  pretending  to  be  mad  I  said :  "Well,  I  must 
say  you've  got  your  gall  whoever  you  are.  I  tell  you 
that's  not  my  name."  He  replied  in  a  contemptuous  man 
ner:  "May  be  it  ain't  by  ."  Then  he  wheeled 

around  and  went  back  to  the  crowd. 

I  knew  him  well,  though  I  hadn't  seen  him  for  many 
years.  He  and  I  used  to  be  cowboys  together  in  Texas. 
I  remembered  his  name  then,  but  it  has  slipped  my 
memory  now.  I  was  sorry  for  the  poor  fellow,  as  no 
doubt  his  companions  gave  him  the  laugh  at  the  way  he 
got  "turned  down"  by  me.  Tim  remarked  that  he  be 
lieved  the  fellow  really  thought  he  knew  me. 

That  night  after  Tim  and  I  had  gone  to  bed,  I  got  up 
under  the  pretense  of  going  to  a  saloon  to  get  a  drink, 
and  went  in  search  of  my  cowboy  friend  so  as  to  explain 
matters  to  him.  He  was  found  at  a  dance,  and  when  I 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  109 

explained  the  situation  we  shook  hands  and  talked  of  old 
times.  He  was  then  in  the  butcher  business. 

Next  day  El  Reno  was  lively,  as  the  Rock  Island  Rail 
way  had  just  arrived  there  and  it  was  the  first  anniversary 
of  the  opening  of  the  Oklahoma  Territory  to  white  settle 
ment.  Oklahoma  being  just  one  year  old  that  day,  the 
whole  Territory  turned  itself  loose  to  celebrate.  Tim  and 
I  did  our  share. 

In  El  Reno  I  traded  a  lot  there,  which  I  owned,  for  a 
two-year-old  race  filly  named  Lulu  Edson.  She  had 
lately  won  a  big  race ;  but  she  proved  to  be  a  costly  piece 
of  horse-flesh,  as  I  heard  the  lot  sold  for  $5000  a  few 
years  later.  I  had  the  consolation  though  of  owning  a 
two-year-old  that  could  run  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  22l/2 
seconds,  almost  world-record  time. 

In  order  to  get  Tim  back  to  Denver  before  making  the 
arrest,  so  as  to  keep  it  out  of  the  newspapers,  we  started 
on  horse-back,  using  Lulu  for  a  pack  animal,  a  distance 
of  about  600  miles. 

Just  before  entering  the  Cherokee  strip,  we  camped 
one  day  for  dinner.  While  eating,  an  Oklahoma  settler 
came  galloping  up  on  a  black  mare  bareback.  He  recog 
nized  me  and  jumping  off  the  horse,  he  said:  "Hello, 
Charlie  Siringo,  what  are  you  doing  here?"  I  got  up 
and  shook  hands  with  him,  as  we  needed  some  pointers 
about  the  road,  but  I  said:  "You  are  the  third  crazy 
Oklahoma  boomer  who  has  called  me  that  name,  so  I  am 
beginning  to  think  that  I  look  like  him.  He  replied: 
"Why  Charlie,  you  can't  fool  me.  I  would  know  your 
hide  in  a  tan-yard."  He  insisted  so  persistently,  that  I 
had  to  make  him  mad.  He  finally  mounted  his  old  nag 


110  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

and  galloped  off  cursing.  He  and  I  had  run  cattle  to 
gether  in  Texas,  years  before,  and  I  knew  him  well,  but 
I  forget  his  name  now. 

That  night  we  put  up  at  a  big  cattle  ranch  in  the 
Cherokee  strip  or  outlet.  There  were  about  twenty  cow 
boys  present.  The  next  morning  it  was  raining  hard  and 
we  concluded  to  lay  over  a  day.  As  Lulu  was  tender- 
footed  I  rode  her  back  into  Oklahoma,  five  miles,  to  get 
her  shod. 

After  I  had  left,  a  man  with  two  pistols  buckled  around 
his  waist  called  Tim  to  one  side  and  said:  "Partner  did 
you  ever  commit  a  crime?"  Tim  asked  why,  and  he  re 
plied:  "Well  if  you  did,  you  had  better  shake  that 
Dickenson  detective  you  are  traveling  with.  That's 
Charlie  Siringo  and  he's  after  some  one  down  here."  Tim 
told  the  fellow  that  he  must  be  mistaken.  He  replied: 
"All  right,  go  ahead  if  you  think  so;  but  my  advice  to 
you  if  you  have  done  anything,  is  to  hit  the  road  and  hit 
her  hard,  before  he  gets  back."  The  fellow  then  got  on 
his  own  horse  and  pulled  out.  He  had  just  dropped  in 
to  eat  breakfast  before  I  had  left,  and  he  recognized  me. 

On  my  return  the  cowboys  told  of  the  noted  outlaw 
"Six  Shooter  Bill"  being  there  for  breakfast.  They  said 
there  were  big  rewards  for  him,  dead  or  alive.  He  had 
evidently  not  told  any  one  but  Tim,  who  I  was. 

Tim  was  sour  and  apparently  worried  for  the  next  few 
days,  but  I  never  surmised  the  cause  until  he  told  of  it 
after  his  arrest.  He  said  he  felt  like  killing  me  and  skip 
ping  out,  as  he  had  already  made  a  confession  to  me,  but 
he  didn't  believe  I  was  a  detective. 

On  our  arrival  in  Denver,  after  a  hard  ride,  and  before 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

we  had  time  to  wash  and  eat,  Tim  was  arrested  by  Supt. 
James  McCartney.  He  was  taken  to  our  office  and  there 
confronted  by  Mr.  W.  C.  Prinz  who  had  come  all  the 
way  from  Nevada  to  be  at  the  wind-up.  Poor  Tim  broke 
down,  and  before  a  Notary  Public  he  made  a  full  con 
fession,  implicating  all  who  had  a  hand  in  the  blowing  up 
of  Prinz  and  Pelling. 

After  getting  his  sworn  confession  down  in  writing 
and  his  signature  to  it,  he  was  turned  over  to  me  to  keep 
under  guard  until  Mr.  Prinz  could  get  back  to  Nevada 
and  have  the  leaders  arrested.  But  we  heard  they  had 
flown  before  the  arrest  could  be  made.  It  was  reported 
that  "Black  Jack"  had  skipped  for  South  Africa.  I  lost 
track  of  the  case  and  never  heard  how  the  matter  ter 
minated. 

Tim  W.  had  promised  to  testify  in  court  when  the  time 
came,  under  agreement  that  he  be  not  put  in  jail.  We 
had  faith  in  him  keeping  his  promise.  I  guarded  Tim 
a  week  or  so  in  order  to  give  Mr.  Prinz  time  to  reach 
Tuscarora  and  swear  out  warrants.  Then  Tim  was 
turned  loose  and  he  went  back  to  his  grass  widow,  Mrs. 
B.,  to  repent  in  sackcloth  and  ashes  for  the  letters  "which 
never  came,"  after  he  had  promised  so  faithfully  to  write 
often.  I  never  learned  how  long  poor  Mrs.  B.  remained 
in  Fort  Sill  nursing  her  grieving  heart.  Hers  was  a  case 
of  sitting  on  the  anxious  seat  with  a  vengeance,  but  such 
is  often  the  penalty  of  blind  love. 

Just  two  days  after  our  return  to  Denver,  I  took  Lulu 
Edson  out  to  the  Overland  Park  where  the  big  races  were 
going  on.  I  hobbled  her  two  front  feet  with  a  piece  of 
new  rope  so  that  she  could  hobble  around  and  eat  green 


112  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

grass.  I  hired  a  negro  to  watch  her,  but  when  the  first 
race  started  she  saw  them  and  joined  in  the  run,  she  be 
ing  on  the  outside  of  the  fence.  In  crossing  a  muddy 
slough,  she  went  up  to  her  ears  in  black  mud,  so  that  she 
was  a  black  horse  with  a  sorrel  head.  When  half  way 
around  the  mile  track  she  jumped  the  five-foot  fence  and 
led  the  bunch  of  trotting  horses  past  the  wire.  Her 
hobble  had  broken  before  she  jumped  the  fence.  She 
trotted  up  to  the  grand  stand  where  sat  many  thousands 
of  Denver's  elite,  and  whinnied.  The  people  cheered,  for 
most  of  them  saw  her  jump  the  high  fence.  I  was  in 
the  grand  stand,  but  at  first,  didn't  know  her,  as  she  was 
black. 

This  was  Lulu's  last  race,  as  I  wouldn't  trust  her  to 
others,  and  I  was  leading  too  strenuous  a  life  to  race  her 
myself.  I  still  own  three  of  her  colts.  She  died  at  my 
expense  fifteen  years  after  falling  into  my  hands. 

Thus  ended  the  Prinz  and  Felling  operation  so  far  as 
I  was  concerned.  It  was  May,  1890,  when  Tim  and  I 
arrived  in  Denver.  I  had  been  on  the  operation  nine 
months. 

In  his  confession  Tim  told  how  the  fuses  were  cut  the 
same  length  and  touched  off  at  the  same  time  so  that 
the  two  wealthy  mine-owners  would  go  up  in  the  air  and 
sprout  angel-wings  at  the  same  time,  their  homes  being 
a  block  or  two  apart.  Many  men  were  connected  with 
the  plot  and  for  this  reason  Tim  was  set  free  after  the 
sworn  affidavits  were  made. 

Mr.  C.  W.  Prinz,  the  last  account  I  had  of  him,  was 
a  prosperous  mining  man  of  San  Francisco  with  offices 
on  Pine  street.  He  and  Felling  sold  out  their  interests 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  113 

in  Tuscarora,  Nevada.  Mr.  Felling  I  heard,  had  married 
millionaire  Cox's  daughter  of  Sacramento,  California, 
and  was  now  soaring  high  in  society ;  quite  a  change  from 
the  time  he  soared  high  in  the  air  through  the  roof  of  a 
house,  with  dynamite  instead  of  $'s  as  the  lifting  power. 


CHAPTER  VI 

SHOOTING  OF  ANCHETA — I  JOIN  THE  "WHITE  CAPS"  OF 
NEW  MEXICO — TAKEN  DOWN  WITH  SMALL 
POX  AND  GIVEN  UP  TO  DIE. 

After  getting  rid  of  Tim  W.,  we  furnished  a  new 
home  and  started  to  housekeeping  again.  Mamie  and 
little  Viola  had  returned  from  Springfield,  Missouri,  but 
the  doctors  had  little  hope  of  saving  my  wife's  life,  as 
both 'lungs  had  become  affected. 

Owing  to  the  sickness  in  my  family,  I  was  not  sent 
out  of  the  city  on  long  operations. 

During  the  fall  my  stubborn  bump  and  quick  temper 
came  very  near  landing  me  in  the  penitentiary.  It  shows 
how  a  man's  whole  life  can  be  changed  by  a  mere  hair's 
breadth.  Gamblers  call  it  luck,  but  I  would  call  it  chance. 

Mamie  was  at  death's  door  and  I  had  been  sitting  up 
with  her  night  and  day.  It  was  Saturday,  and  I  went 
down  to  the  office  to  draw  my  week's  salary  and  to  ask 
Mr.  McParland  if  I  couldn't  remain  at  Mamie's  bedside 
until  she  got  better. 

With  the  salary  in  my  pocket,  I  started  home  by  way 
of  Laramie  street,  so  as  to  get  old  Colt's  45  out  of  "soak." 
Being  short  of  cash  I  had  pawned  the  pistol  for  $20.00 
to  H.  Solomon  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  pawn  shop,  and  in 
its  place  I  was  carrying  a  small  pistol  belonging  to 
operative  Frank  McC. 

Next  door  to  the  Rocky  Mountain  pawn  shop  a  chem- 

114 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  115 

ical  factory  had  blown  up  and  it  was  reported  that  a  dead 
man  was  being  brought  out  "by  tne  police  and  firemen. 
The  police  had  ropes  stretched  to  keep  the  crowds  back, 
and  a  special  policeman  named  Rease,  was  guarding  the 
front  door  of  Solomon's  pawn  shop  and  wouldn't  let  any 
one  inside  for  fear  a  raid  would  be  made  on  the  valuable 
diamonds  in  the  window  and  show  cases.  Being  refused 
admittance,  I  stepped  up  on  an  iron  railing  to  get  a 
better  view  of  the  dead  man  who  was  being  brought  out. 
Just  then  young  Solomon  told  me  to  get  down  and  move 
away  from  the  front  of  their  shop.  I  told  him  to  go  to 
Hades  or  some  other  seaport.  Then  the  big  double- 
jointed  special  policeman  pulled  me  down  and  tore  my 
coat  almost  off.  My  gold-headed  silk  umbrella  was 
broken  all  to  pieces  over  his  head  and  when  he  reached 
for  his  gun  mine  was  pulled  out  of  my  hip  pocket  and 
pointed  at  his  heart  and  the  trigger  was  pulled.  While 
using  the  umbrella  on  the  fellow's  head,  other  policemen 
rushed  at  me.  Just  as  the  trigger  was  pulled,  a  police 
man  by  the  name  of  Ball,  threw  both  arms  around  me 
from  the  rear.  His  right  hand  grabbed  the  pistol  and 
the  hammer  came  down  on  his  thumb  instead  of  the 
cartridge,  thus  saving  me  the  expense  of  a  trip  to  the 
penitentiary,  for  had  he  been  killed,  it  would  have  meant 
a  trip  "over  the  road."  The  sharp  hammer  had  buried 
itself  in  his  thumb,  so  I  was  told.  I  saw  him  many  times 
afterwards,  but  never  made  myself  known  to  him. 

By  main  strength  and  awkwardness,  six  policemen  put 
me  in  the  "hurry-up  wagon,"  and  I  was  taken  to  jail, 
coatless,  hatless  and  an  umbrella  less.  That  evening  I 
was  liberated  by  Chief  of  Police  John  Farley,  after  Mr. 


116  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

McCartney  had  come  to  see  me.  This  ended  the  matter 
after  old  Colts  45  was  taken  out  of  "soak,"  and  I  had 
tried  to  round  up  my  hat  and  the  gold  head  of  my 
umbrella,  but  they  had  vanished. 

Poor  Mamie  died  in  my  arms  early  m  the  winter  as 
I  was  holding  her  at  the  window  to  get  fresh  air.  Her 
suffering  had  been  something  awful  and  our  physician, 
Dr.  Herman  H.  Martin,  shed  tears  when  the  end  came. 
This  was  a  surprise  to  me  for  I  didn't  think  a  doctor 
could  shed  tears,  as  they  become  so  accustomed  to  great 
suffering. 

Mamie's  aunt,  Mrs.  Will  F.  Read,  formerly  Miss 
Emma  Lloyd,  of  Shelbyville,  Illinois,  one  of  nature's 
purest  and  noblest  women,  came  out  from  her  home  in 
Anna,  Illinois,  to  comfort  my  wife  in  her  last  days  on 
earth.  When  Mrs.  Read  returned  to  Illinois,  I  let  her 
take  Viola  along,  as  she  had  no  children  of  her  own  and 
begged  so  hard  for  the  child  to  raise,  as  I  had  no  way  of 
caring  for  her. 

Shortly  after  the  breaking  up  of  my  home,  I  was  sent 
to  Santa  Fe,  New  Mexico,  to  work  for  the  Territory. 
I  was  the  only  operative  in  the  Denver  office  who  was 
familiar  with  the  Mexican  language,  hence  this  opera 
tion  fell  to  my  lot. 

It  was  in  the  early  part  of  February,  1891.  The  Ter 
ritorial  legislature  was  in  session  at  Santa  Fe,  the  capital, 
and  one  night  armed  assassins  fired  into  the  law  office 
of  Mr.  Thos.  B.  Catron,  where  the  executive  committee 
of  the  senate  was  holding  a  meeting. 

The  men  who  did  the  shooting  were  on  horseback  and 
rode  up  to  the  glass  front  office  building  on  the  ground 


A    COWBOY  DETECTIVE  117 

floor  and  fired.  It  was  late  at  night.  One  charge  of 
buckshot  struck  Ancheta  in  the  neck  and  another  lodged 
in  some  law  books  on  a  table  lying  in  front  of  Mr.  Catron. 
The  books  saved  his  life.  One  rifle  bullet  barely  missed 
Ex-Governor  Stover,  then  a  Territorial  senator. 

A  fierce  fight  had  been  raging  in  the  legislature  over  a 
free  public  school  bill  which  had  been  introduced  by 
Ancheta,  an  educated  Mexican,  and  was  being  fought  by 
the  Catholic  church.  The  legislature  had  appropriated 
$20,000.00  as  a  fund  to  run  down  the  guilty  parties.  Re 
wards  were  offered  and  a  committee  of  three  was  ap 
pointed  to  handle  this  fund.  On  this  committee  were  the 
governor,  L.  Bradford  Prince,  the  attorney-general,  Ed 
ward  L.  Bartlett  and  territorial  senator,  Thos.  B.  Catron, 
all  being  leading  Republicans. 

On  my  arrival  in  the  oldest  city  in  the  Union,  and  the 
cradle  of  "Ben  Hur,"  I  had  a  consultation  with  Gov. 
Prince,  and  later  with  the  other  two  members  of  the  com 
mittee.  I  was  made  familiar  with  all  the  facts  in  the  case, 
even  to  a  peculiar  track  made  by  one  of  the  horses  ridden 
by  one  of  the  shooters  in  running  over  the  frozen  snow 
and  slush.  One  hind  hoof  of  this  horse  dug  up  the  dirt 
in  a  peculiar  fashion,  showing  that  the  hoof  was  crooked. 

John  Gray,  the  city  marshal,  and  a  crowd  had  followed 
the  tracks  of  these  horsemen  to  the  junction  of  two  roads, 
one  leading  to  Las  Vegas  and  the  other  to  the  Cow 
Springs  country.  Here  all  trace  was  lost. 

I  was  told  to  work  on  the  "White  Caps,"  and  if  pos 
sible,  join  their  order,  as  there  was  no  doubt  about  mem 
bers  of  that  lawless  gang  being  the  guilty  ones,  and  that 
possibly  the  whole  organization  was  in  the  plot. 


118  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

During  the  last  election  the  "White  Caps"  had  carried 
the  county  of  San  Miguel,  Las  Vegas  being  the  county 
seat,  and  elected  to  the  legislature  one  of  its  leaders, 
Pablo  H.,  who  had  just  finished  serving  a  sentence  in  the 
territorial  penitentiary  at  Santa  Fe.  My  mind  was  soon 
made  up  to  win  the  friendship  of  this  ex-convict  member 
of  the  legislature,  and  through  him  join  the  "White 
Caps." 

The  sheriff  of  Santa  Fe  county,  Francisco  Chaves,  was 
a  member  of  the  "White  Caps"  organization  and  by 
spending  money  freely  with  him,  we  became  fast  friends. 

One  night  on  our  rounds  in  the  "hurrah"  part  of  the 
city,  we  ran  into  Pablo  H.  and  his  gang  of  friends.  Of 
course,  I  was  introduced  to  the  gang,  and  we  proceeded 
to  "whoop  'em  up." 

A  few  days  later  the  legislature  adjourned  and  by  invi 
tation  from  Pablo,  I  was  a  passenger  with  him  on  the 
train  for  Las  Vegas.  In  Las  Vegas,  both  the  old  and 
new  towns,  I  was  introduced  to  all  the  "White  Cap" 
friends  of  Pablo  H.,  among  them  being  his  two  brothers. 
Judge  Jose  and  Nicanor,  the  latter  being  a  fine  looking 
specimen  of  the  Mexican  race,  with  jet  black  wavy  hair, 
reaching  to  the  shoulders;  but  the  fierce  determined  ex 
pression  on  his  face  portended  evil  for  his  enemies. 

Days  passed  into  weeks  and  Pablo  and  I  became  in 
separable.  We  consumed  much  bad  liquor  and  ate  many 
fine  meals  in  swell  society  at  the  Montezuma  hotel,  six 
miles  from  Las  Vegas,  at  the  Hot  Springs.  The  only 
thing  to  worry  me  was  a  fear  that  H.  H.  Pierce,  of  the 
Stock  Growers'  Journal  might  give  me  away.  I  had  been 
introduced  to  him  by  my  old  friend  Lute  Wilcox,  of  the 


PABLO  H.  STANDING.— His  Two  BROTHERS  SITTING. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  119 

Field  &  Farm  in  Denver,  Colorado,  a  couple  of  years 
previous,  and  now  he  recognized  me  and  I  had  to  trust 
him  to  keep  my  identity  a  secret.  The  county  clerk,  Rox. 
Hardy,  who  had  been  elected  by  the  "White  Cap"  vote, 
was  his  running  mate,  and  I  feared  that  Pierce  might  tell 
the  secret  to  him  and  the  chances  are  he  did.  I  after 
wards  found  out  that  Rox.  Hardy  was  a  friend  to  the 
"White  Caps"  for  revenue  only,  so  then  I  had  no  fear. 

I  had  an  old  time  friend  in  the  new  town  of  Las  Vegas 
by  the  name  of  "Nick"  Chaffin.  He  owned  a  livery 
stable  in  partnership  with  a  Mr.  Duncan.  He  didn't  rec 
ognize  me  as  we  had  not  met  before  for  twelve  years. 
The  fact  that  I  went  by  an  assumed  name,  C.  Leon  Alli 
son,  threw  him  off  his  guard  when  Pablo  introduced  us 
one  night. 

Seeing  "Nick"  brought  back  memories  of  early  days 
in  the  Panhandle  of  Texas.  I  was  dying  to  make  myself 
known  to  "Nick,"  so  that  I  could  "hark  back"  to  a  time  in 
1877  when  he  got  me  to  ride  a  wild  horse  for  him.  This 
horse  gave  me  a  new  kind  of  a  ride  and  thereby  impressed 
"Nick"  Chaffin's  photo  on  memory's  tablet. 

I  had  faith  in  Mr.  Chaffin  not  giving  me  away  inten 
tionally,  but  the  rules  of  my  agency  forbid  making  our 
selves  known  where  there  is  nothing  to  be  gained  by  so 
doing. 

I  finally  bought  a  horse  and  saddle  and  one  night  when 
Pablo  H.  had  to  attend  an  important  meeting  of  "White 
Caps"  near  the  Mexican  town  of  Tecolote,  about  ten 
miles  from  Las  Vegas,  I  went  along.  Pablo  and  I  had 
been  drinking  considerably  that  day,  as  I  wanted  him  to 
feel  gay  when  the  time  came  for  him  to  start,  so  that  he 


120  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

would  invite  me  to  accompany  him,  which  he  did.  Each 
of  us  carried  a  bottle  of  whiskey  as  we  galloped  over  the 
hills  to  Tecolote.  We  rode  up  to  a  large  adobe  hall  stand 
ing  on  a  hill,  solitary  and  alone,  about  9  p.  M.  The  light 
of  the  candles  inside  could  scarcely  be  seen  owing  to  the 
heavy  curtains  over  the  windows. 

I  felt  a  little  shaky  for  fear  that  Pierce  might  have 
given  me  away  and  that  this  might  be  a  trap  set  to  murder 
me.  I  suggested  to  Pablo  that  as  I  was  not  a  member  of 
the  order,  I  remain  outside.  This  was  done  for  effect, 
but  Pablo  insisted  that  I  was  his  friend  and  wherever  he 
went  I  should  go.  Pablo  gave  the  secret  knock  at  the 
door  and  it  was  opened.  Seeing  a  "Gringo"  stranger 
entering  at  Pablo's  heels,  the  guard  tried  to  stop  me,  but 
Pablo,  being  a  powerful  man,  brushed  the  fellow  to  one 
side  and  cursed  him  in  Mexican. 

In  the  rear  of  the  hall  several  new  members  were  be 
ing  initiated  into  the  "White  Cap"  order,  which  had  a 
charter  from  the  Knights  of  Labor  and  pretended  to  be 
a  branch  of  that  organization  merely  for  effect.  My 
presence  in  the  hall  came  near  starting  a  riot.  The  master- 
workman  ordered  me  put  out.  Pablo  put  his  hand  on 
his  pistol  and  told  the  crowd  to  stand  back.  Then  he 
made  a  fiery  speech,  such  as  he  had  lately  made  in  the 
legislative  halls  at  Santa  Fe.  He  soared  to  the  sky  in  his 
Spanish  eloquence  and  told  how  he  had  bled  and  starved 
for  their  noble  order  and  how  he  would  suffer  his  eyes 
to  be  plucked  out  rather  than  bring  a  man  into  the  lodge 
who  couldn't  be  trusted.  The  large  crowd  of  rough  look 
ing  Mexicans  and  half-breed  Indians  were  carried  off 
their  feet  by  this  speech  and  they  cheered  loudly.  The 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  121 

master-workman  put  a  motion  before  the  house  that  the 
rules  be  suspended  and  I  be  initiated  into  the  order.  It 
was  carried. 

The  half  dozen  candidates  still  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  hall  forming  a  circle  and  holding  each  other's  hands. 
They  seemed  frightened.  Pablo  led  me  over  and  break 
ing  the  circle,  he  placed  my  hands  into  those  of  two  Mex 
icans,  and  thereby  patched  up  the  broken  circle.  In  the 
center  of  this  circle  strange  chalk  marks  were  made  on 
the  floor.  They  all  represented  something.  The  cere 
mony  was  started  anew  for  my  benefit.  It  consisted  of 
weird  chanting  and  gestures  and  sworn  pledges  to  give 
up  life  if  necessary  for  the  good  of  the  order  or  a 
brother  in  need.  This  last  clause  proved  hard  on  my 
territorial  pocket  book  as  later  I  found  hundreds  in  need 
of  a  drink. 

I  was  the  only  "Gringo"  (American)  member  of  this 
lodge  and  I  felt  highly  honored.  Most  of  its  members 
were  "Penitentes,"  the  religious  fanatics  who  whip  them 
selves  with  cactus  and  inflict  all  manner  of  cruelties  upon 
themselves.  In  this  county  they  were  2,200  strong,  and 
most  of  them  had  joined  the  "White  Caps"  and  ruled  in 
politics. 

The  "White  Cap"  order  had  been  formed  for  the  pur 
pose  of  cutting  fences  and  even  killing  stockmen  who 
fenced  large  tracts  of  land.  They  traveled  in  large 
bands,  wearing  white  caps  on  their  heads  and  on  their 
horses'  heads.  The  horses  were  also  covered  with  white 
sheets  at  times.  The  leaders  finally  turned  it  into  a  polit 
ical  order  to  frighten  voters  into  voting  the  Populist 
ticket.  Some  men  who  opposed  them  were  murdered.  I 


122  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

was  let  into  their  secrets  of  the  past.  One  pitiful  case 
was  where  they  murdered  a  poor  Turk  because  they 
thought  he  was  a  detective. 

For  quite  a  while  I  lived  with  Nicanor  H.  on  his  ranch 
near  Tecolote. 

In  attending  other  lodges  and  visiting  brother  mem 
bers  in  Moro  county,  I  saw  many  cruel  scenes  performed 
by  the  "Penitentes." 

I  spent  some  time  visiting  with  Col.  Blake  and  his  fam 
ily  at  Rociada,  in  Mora  county.  I  knew  Col.  Blake  in 
White  Oaks,  New  Mexico,  in  1880,  but  he  failed  to  recog 
nize  me.  He  was  a  strong  Populist  and  hence  sympa 
thized  with  the  "White  Caps." 

I  satisfied  myself  that  the  "White  Caps"  had  nothing 
to  do  with  the  shooting  of  Ancheta  at  Santa  Fe.  I  then 
bade  my  "White  Cap"  friends  goodbye,  and  left  overland 
for  Santa  Fe,  a  distance  of  about  80  miles. 

Soon  after  this  Pablo  H.  became  an  outlaw  and  killed 
men  for  the  fun  of  it,  so  it  was  said.  He  was  finally 
arrested  and  broke  jail.  While  court  was  in  session  at 
Las  Vegas,  he  got  drunk  and  defied  the  court  and  its 
officers.  This  angered  District  Judge  Smith  and  he 
ordered  Billy  Green,  a  fearless  officer,  to  bring  Pablo  H. 
dead  or  alive,  before  his  court.  Green  carried  out  the 
court's  order  by  bringing  Pablo's  corpse  before  the  judge. 
But  this  proved  the  doom  of  Billy  Green.  He  and  a 
companion  were  waylaid  and  killed  later. 

Nicanor  H.,  soon  after  we  parted,  killed  a  man  and  was 
sent  to  the  penitentiary.  But  after  serving  a  short  sen 
tence  he  was  pardoned  and  my  old-time  friend,  former 
attorney-general  of  New  Mexico,  Col.  Geo.  W.  Prichard, 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  123 

informs  me  that  he  is  now  living  an  honorable,  indus 
trious  life  in  Las  Vegas.  His  brother,  Judge  Jose  H., 
died  a  natural  death. 

On  my  way  over  to  Santa  Fe,  I  traded  horses.  In  the 
distance  I  saw  a  cloud  of  dust  and  two  black  objects 
cutting  all  kinds  of  monkey-shines.  I  hurried  to  the 
place  and  found  a  negro  man  trying  to  plow  with  a  brown 
mare.  The  mare  was  wild  and  wouldn't  be  hitched  to 
the  plow.  The  air  was  impregnated  with  cuss  words  and 
rivulets  of  perspiration  were  flowing  from  the  negro's 
manly  brow.  He  recognized  me  as  a  brother  "White 
Cap"  whom  he  had  met  at  one  of  the  lodges.  Then  there 
was  rejoicing.  He  asked  me  to  help  him  hitch  up  the 

"d old  mar'."  I  replied  that  I  was  in  too  much  of  a 

hurry,  but  to  accommodate  him  I  would  trade  horses. 
He  asked  if  mine  would  work.  I  told  him  yes,  that  he 
was  hankering  to  get  into  that  plow  and  tear  up  the  dirt. 
With  a  grin  on  his  face  he  called  it  a  trade.  His  mare 
was  much  larger  than  my  horse,  and  worth  more.  I 
didn't  lie  to  make  this  trade,  for  in  Texas  where  I  was 
brought  up,  a  lie  told  in  a  horse  trade  is  the  truth. 

Mr.  "Coon"  helped  me  saddle  the  mare  and  when  I 
mounted  her  she  bucked  hard  and  wi£ked.  Between 
jumps  I  could  hear  the  negro's  loud  laugh  and  now  and 
then  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  white  teeth  shining  in  the 
sun.  We  finally  got  straightened  out  and  headed  west 
in  a  gallop.  It  was  a  level  stretch  of  country  and  in  look 
ing  back  all  I  could  see  was  a  cloud  of  dust  where  the 
negro  and  the  bay  bronco  were  having  a  tug  of  war. 
This  horse  had  never  had  harness  on.  I  never  knew  who 
won  in  this  battle,  the  negro  or  the  horse,  but  I  could 


124  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

smell  the  brimstone  from  the  cuss  words  thrown  at  me  as 
long  as  I  was  in  sight.  Of  course,  it  may  have  been  im 
agination. 

I  arrived  in  Santa  Fe  after  a  hard  ride.  I  thought  a 
hard  ride  would  take  the  "buck"  out  of  the  mare,  but  it 
didn't,  for  next  morning  when  I  mounted  her  on  one  of 
the  main  streets  of  Santa  Fe,  she  bucked  hard.  In  this 
bucking  match  my  pistol  flew  out  of  its  scabbard  and 
was  picked  up  by  Cooley  Beaver,  thus  starting  a  friend 
ship  which  has  lasted  to  this  day. 

After  a  meeting  with  Gov.  Prince,  I  left  for  Cow 
Springs,  the  end  of  the  other  road  which  the  assassins 
might  have  taken.  It  was  at  the  junction  of  this  and 
the  Las  Vegas  roads  where  the  trail  had  been  lost  on  the 
night  of  the  shooting. 

Cow  Springs  is  a  long  day's  ride  from  Santa  Fe.  It 
is  an  out-of-the-way  place  and  consisted  of  about  a  dozen 
Mexican  families  who  had  small  farms  and  ranches. 
There  was  only  one  brother  "White  Cap"  in  the  settle 
ment.  His  name  was  Eustaquio  P.  He  was  a  good  fellow 
and  we  became  warm  friends.  The  balance  were  all  re 
publicans. 

I  lived  with  Francisco  G.  and  his  family. 

Before  being  here  a  week  I  found  that  I  was  on  the 
right  track.  I  located  the  horse  with  a  peculiar  hind 
hoof,  and  to  satisfy  myself  I  went  after  cattle  one  day 
with  the  owner  of  this  horse,  which  was  his  pet,  and  I 
examinecT  the  tracks.  The  crooked  hoof  threw  up  the 
dirt  exactly  as  described  after  the  shooting.  I  also  found 
out  that  the  owner  of  this  animal,  with  other  relatives  of 
his,  were  in  Santa  Fe  up  to  the  night  of  the  shooting. 
In  fact,  I  satisfied  myself  that  here  lived  the  guilty  parties. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  125 

Two  weeks  after  my  arrival  in  Cow  Springs,  we  had  a 
"big  time"  which  broke  the  monotony  of  living  on  chili 
and  other  Mexican  dishes. 

It  was  Sunday  and  the  Catholic  priest  came  from 
Santa  Fe  to  christen  the  new  bell  in  the  small  adobe 
church.  We  all  turned  out  and  met  him  several  miles 
from  the  settlement.  We  returned  riding  ahead  of  the 
priest,  singing  and  playing  musical  instruments.  Sixto  G. 
had  a  violin  and  he  led  the  procession.  After  the  new 
bell  was  put  in  place,  five  cents  was  charged  to  ring  it 
once.  I  spent  about  $1.00  ringing  the  bell.  Quite  a  purse 
was  collected.  Even  little  babies  at  their  mother's  breast 
forked  over  a  nickel  to  ring  the  bell. 

Soon  after  this  we  received  word  that  a  Mexican 
woman  had  died  from  smallpox  out  in  the  hills  and  that 
there  was  no  one  to  bury  her.  A  crowd  of  us  took 
shovels,  etc.,  and  struck  out  to  do  the  job.  In  the  house 
lay  the  corpse  and  by  the  side  of  two  little  twin  babies 
lying  on  the  floor  with  nothing  but  a  sheepskin  under 
them,  sat  the  father  feeding  the  babies.  He  had  nothing 
to  feed  them  with  but  dried  raw  beef  which  he  would  chew 
up  and  stick  in  their  mouths  so  they  could  suck  the  juice 
out  of  it.  Their*  little  bodies  were  parched  and  cracked 
open  from  the  smallpox.  The  winking  of  the  coal-black 
eyes  and  the  movement  of  their  lips  were  the  only  signs 
of  life  left  in  them.  After  burying  the  woman  I  got  a 
box  of  salve  from  my  saddle  pockets  and  greased  those 
little  babes  from  head  to  foot.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  see 
them  smile  and  their  little  eyes  wink.  It  no  doubt  re 
lieved  fheir  pain. 

I  had  no  fear  of  catching  the  smallpox,  as  I  had  it  in 


136  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

1882  in  Texas.  On  that  occasion  I  had  to  ride  200  miles 
to  a  doctor  and  had  to  sleep  out  at  night  in  rain  with  no 
covering  but  my  saddle  blankets.  Therefore,  you  may 
know  that  I  could  sympathize  with  these  babes.  I  had 
always  heard  that  a  person  couldn't  take  smallpox  more 
than  once,  but  I  know  better  now.  Gen.  Smith's  son-in- 
law,  I  am  told,  died  in  Santa  Fe  the  third  time  he  had  it, 
and  doctors  tell  me  that  a  case  is  on  record  where  a  man 
had  the  disease  eight  times.  I  know  positively  now  of 
one  poor  d— '• — 1  who  had  it  twice. 

On  our  return  to  Cow  Springs  we  sent  a  nurse  and 
food  to  those  sick  babies,  but  they  died  a  few  days  later. 

Shortly  after  the  burial  of  the  woman,  I  got  sick  with 
a  burning  fever.  Late  in  the  evening  I  started  for  Lamy 
Junction,  the  nearest  store,  a  distance  of  12  miles,  to  get 
a  bottle  of  Carter's  little  liver  pills,  my  favorite  remedy 
when  feeling  badly.  I  secured  a  room  in  the  Harvey  hotel 
and  taking  a  dose  of  pills,  went  to  bed  for  the  night. 
Next  morning  I  felt  worse  and  was  burning  up  with 
fever.  Still  I  had  faith  in  a  few  doses  of  the  pills  curing 
me,  so  I  concluded  to  return  to  Cow  Springs. 

After  saddling  my  mare  I  dreaded  to  mount  her,  as  her 
vicious  bucking  which  she  always  practised  after  a  night's 
rest,  would  be  painful  to  my  already  aching  bones. 

I  was  sitting  on  the  steps  in  front  of  Charlie  Haspel- 
math's  store  holding  the  mare  by  the  rope  with  my  face 
buried  in  both  hands  to  ease  the  severe  headache.  Just 
then  a  big  drunken  Irish  car  repairer  for  the  railroad 
company  came  along  and  asked  me  to  please  give  him  a 
ride  on  my  horse,  as  he  hadn't  been  on  a  pony  since 
coming  west.  Forgetting  all  about  my  headache  and 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

looking  up  with  a  smile,  I  handed  him  the  rope.  The 
mare  stood  still  until  he  was  seated  in  the  saddle,  then 
business  started  with  a  rush.  Seemed  to  me  as  if  the 
Irishman  stayed  up  in  the  air  long  enough  for  birds  to 
have  built  a  nest  in  his  coat  pocket.  I  heard  afterwards 
that  he  lay  in  the  hospital  quite  a  while.  The  mare  went 
flying  over  the  hills  towards  the  southeast,  dragging  the 
long  rope.  I  hired  two  Mexicans  on  good  horses  to 
stay  on  her  trail  and  bring  her  back.  She  was  found 
fourteen  days  afterwards  twenty-five  miles  from  Lamy, 
just  about  starved  to  death.  The  rope  had  wound  around 
a  tree.  The  saddle  was  gone. 

In  the  evening  the  train  started  for  Santa  Fe,  and  I 
was  one  of  the  passengers.  On  arriving  in  the  city  I  had 
a  hack  take  me  to  Mrs.  Aaron  Gold's  rooming  house, 
where  I  had  formerly  roomed.  She  had  two  nice  daugh 
ters,  Rebecca  and  Zepora,  and  I  had  found  it  a  pleasant 
place  to  live. 

I  was  a  very  sick  man,  but  kept  on  my  feet  long  enough 
to  slip  into  the  Governor's  Palace  after  dark  to  report  to 
Gov.  Prince.  He  was  absent  from  the  city,  so  Mrs. 
Prince,  his  wife,  informed  me.  She  entertained  me  in 
her  elegantly  furnished  parlor  for  a  couple  of  hours,  so 
that  I  forgot  about  being  sick.  It  was  a  treat  to  have  my 
high-heel  cowboy  boots  buried  in  Brussels  carpet  after 
being  so  long  on  dirt  floors.  But  I  smile  even  to  this 
day  when  I  think  of  how  good  Mrs.  Prince  would  have 
stampeded  had  she  known  that  I  was  at  that  moment 
burning  up  with  a  smallpox  fever. 

That  night  I  slept  very  little  and  by  the  next  morning 
I  was  beginning  to  lose  faith  in  Carter's  little  liver  pills. 


128  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

I  had  already  taken  half  the  bottle  and  still  the  fever  was 
growing  worse.  Despite  my  suffering,  most  of  the  day 
was  spent  writing  reports.  Late  in  the  evening  I  went 
to  bed  and  sent  for  Dr.  J.  H.  Sloan.  While  waiting  for 
him  Miss  Zepora  Gold  came  and  sat  at  the  head  of  my 
bed  and  with  her  beautiful  girlish  face  and  sweet  voice, 
cheered  my  drooping  spirits,  but  it  wasn't  for  long,  for 
when  the  doctor  came  and  pronounced  it  smallpox  she 
stampeded. 

It  was  raining  hard  and  Dr.  Sloan  told  me  not  to 
listen  to  the  pleadings  of  Mrs.  Gold  and  her  daughters 
should  they  try  to  have  me  moved  in  the  rain,  as  it  would 
cause  my  death.  I  sent  for  my  old  "White  Cap"  Mexi 
can  friend,  Francisco  Lechuga,  to  come  and  nurse  me. 
As  Dr.  Sloan  was  slow  about  returning,  I  became  im 
patient  and  sent  my  nurse  after  Dr.  Harroun.  He  also 
pronounced  it  smallpox  and  advised  me  not  to  be  moved 
in  the  rain. 

After  dark  Mrs.  Gold  and  Zepora  pled  with  me  from  a 
distance  through  the  partly  opened  door,  to  vacate  my 
room  before  the  other  roomers  learned  of  my  presence, 
(as  they  would  all  leave.  I  could  resist  the  pitiful  plead 
ing  of  Mrs.  Gold,  but  not  of  the  pretty  daughter.  I 
thought  of  the  countless  numbers  who  in  past  ages  had 
given  up  their  lives  at  the  command  of  youth  and  beauty, 
and  why  not  I  ?  So  I  consented  to  be  moved  if  a  place 
could  be  found  for  me. 

In  the  course  of  an  hour  Mrs.  Gold  returned  saying 
that  she  had  found  a  place  at  the  house  of  Diego  Gon- 
zales,  but  that  I  would  have  to  pay  $3  a  day  for  a  room 
and  board;  that  they  would  wait  on  me  during  the  day, 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  129 

but  I  had  to  furnish  my  own  nurse  at  night.    I  agreed 
to  this. 

Soon  a  hack  drove  up  to  Mrs.  Gold's  and  throwing  a 
quilt  over  my  head  I  walked  through  a  pouring  rain  for 
about  100  feet  to  where  the  hack  stood.  An  hour  later, 
when  Dr.  Harroun  found  me  in  my  new  quarters  he  was 
angry  at  me  for  moving  in  the  rain.  By  this  time  I  had 
broken  out  with  sores  from  head  to  foot,  and  I  was 
"swelled  up"  like  a  Chicago  alderman. 

About  four  or  five  days  later,  Dr.  Harroun  came  to  see 
me  at  about  8  p.  M.  as  usual.  He  felt  my  pulse  and  then 
began  walking  up  and  down  the  floor  with  a  worried  look 
on  his  face.  I  could  still  see  through  a  corner  of  one 
eye  which  hadn't  swollen  shut  yet.  I  knew  there  was 
something  wrong,  so  I  asked  for  an  explanation.  The 
doctor  sat  down  by  the  head  of  my  bed  and  taking  hold 
of  my  hand,  told  me  that  I  couldn't  live  till  morning,  as 
my  temperature  had  been  up  to  the  highest  pitch,  either 
105  or  107,  I  forget  which,  for  four  or  five  days,  which 
was  the  limit;  that  my  vital  energy  would  be  burnt  out 
before  morning.  He  advised  that  if  I  had  any  word  or 
will  to  leave,  that  I  attend  to  it  then.  I  made  him 
promise  that  he  would  keep  the  matter  of  what  he  was  to 
write  down  a  secret;  and  that  not  a  soul  but  himself 
should  know  of  it  until  after  my  death.  I  got  him  to  write 
down  a  last  farewell  to  my  mother  and  relatives,  but 
didn't  tell  who  they  were,  nor  where  they  lived. 

Before  leaving,  the  doctor  left  some  medicine  for  me 

to  take  every  ten  minutes.     He  instructed  my  nurse,  a 

strange  young  Mexican  whom  Francisco  Lechuga  had 

sent  to  work  in  his  place  that  night,  to  stay  awake  and 

9 


130  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

give  me  the  medicine  regularly.  Then  the  doctor  shook 
hands  with  me  and  departed. 

After  the  doctor  had  gone,  the  band  began  playing  in 
the  Plaza,  and  we  could  hear  shouting  and  firing  of 
cannon.  The  sleepy  old  city  had  woke  up  that  day  from 
her  300  years'  slumber.  An  election  had  been  held,  and 
it  was  voted  to  incorporate  and  have  a  city  government 
This  music  and  noise  was  to  celebrate  the  event. 

After  giving  me  the  first  dose  of  medicine,  the  nurse 
asked  if  he  could  go  to  the  door  and  hear  the  music.  I 
consented,  with  his  promise  to  be  back  in  10  minutes  so 
as  to  give  me  the  medicine  again.  I  had  overlooked  the 
fact  that  he  was  of  the  common  peon  class,  and  that  free 
liquor  was  flowing  like  water  down  town. 

The  Gonzales  house  covered  nearly  half  an  acre  of 
ground,  and  the  family  lived  across  an  open  court  in  a 
different  part  of  the  residence  from  my  room.  They 
had  gone  down  town  to  the  rally  after  turning  me  over  to 
the  nurse  before  the  arrival  of  the  doctor,  hence  they 
knew  nothing  of  my  dangerous  condition.  On  returning 
at  midnight,  they  went  to  bed;. 

After  enduring  a  burning  thirst  for  an  hour  or  two,  I 
tried  to  get  up  to  find  a  drink  of  water  and  call  for  help, 
but  failed.  I  was  swelled  up  like  a  barrel,  and  every  inch 
of  my  body  even  to  the  soles  of  my  feet  and  the  inside 
of  my  throat  was  covered  with  sores.  In  lying  so  long 
on  my  back,  these  sores  had  become  calloused,  but  on 
undertaking  to  turn  over  on  to  the  fresh  sores  so  as  to 
try  to  get  up,  I  would  scream  with  pain  and  fall  over  on 
my  back  again.  By  this  time  I  was  good  and  angry  at 
my  nurse  for  his  long  absence,  and  I  surmised  the  truth 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  131 

of  his  long  stay.  The  only  consolation  that  I  had  during 
the  night  was  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  how  to  curse  in 
the  Mexican  language,  for  fear  that  the  god  who  ruled 
over  this  truant  son  of  old  Montezuma  might  not  under 
stand  my  English  swearing. 

After  my  anger  had  cooled  down  somewhat,  I  began 
to  think  of  dying  and  wondered  what  kind  of  a  reception 
I  would  receive  on  the  other  shore  from  whence  no  cow 
boy  detective  has  ever  returned. 

Towards  morning  I  could  hardly  get  my  breath,  and  I 
was  suffering  the  torments  of  hell.  This  I  thought 
meant  the  approach  of  death  and  I  cried  at  the  thoughts 
of  being  dragged  off  by  a  lot  of  cheap  peons  before  my 
body  was  cold,  and  thrown  into  a  small-pox  grave.  Then, 
for  the  first  time,  I  realized  the  satisfaction  of  being 
buried  by  loving  hands  and  having  flowers  strewn  on  our 
graves. 

When  the  cry  was  over  my  teeth  were  set  and  I  made 
up  my  mind  not  to  die.  I  was  determined  to  fight  off 
death  with  all  the  energy  left  in  me. 

Next  morning  at  7  o'clock  the  doctor  was  the  first  one 
to  come.  He  was  as  tickled  as  a  little  boy  with  his  first 
pair  of  pants,  when  he  saw  I  was  alive.  My  temperature 
was  down  to  101,  and  he  said  I  was  safe. 

For  the  next  two  weeks  I  suffered  greatly.  Most  of  the 
time  I  was  compelled  to  lie  flat  on  my  back,  as  turning 
over  on  to  the  fresh  sores  which  had  not  been  hardened 
through  contact  with  the  hard  corn-shuck  mattress,  was 
too  painful.  These  sores  seemed  to  have  melted  and  all 
run  together,  forming  one  solid  scab  from  head  to  foot. 

Diego  Gonzales  and  his  good  wife  had  two  daughters, 


132  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Braulia  and  Delfina;  also  some  little  grandchildren  by 
a  son,  Perfecto,  and  they  all  made  it  pleasant  for  me 
while  recovering.  The  baby  grandchild,  Manuel,  spent 
half  of  his  time  playing  in  my  room.  Catarina,  an 
adopted  daughter,  also  did  her  share  towards  making  life 
worth  living. 

It  was  the  first  part  of  July  when  Francisco  G.  came 
in  from  Cow  Springs  in  his  wagon  and  took  me  out 
home  to  where  my  bucking  mare  was  waiting  for  a  tussel 
with  me.  She  hadn't  been  ridden  since  that  drunken  son 
of  Ireland  struck  the  earth  on  his  head,  and  she  had  re 
covered  from  that  hungry  spell  while  fast  to  a  tree  for  a 
couple  of  weeks.  After  buying  another  saddle,  I  gave  the 
mare  an  opportunity  to  practise  her  favorite  game.  I 
finally  traded  her  off  though,  as  I  had  tired  of  her 
"monkey  business." 

For  the  next  month  or  two  my  time  was  divided  be 
tween  Cow  Springs  and  Santa  Fe. 

I  received  a  partial  confession  from  the  Mexican  with 
the  crooked  hoof  horse,  also  other  evidence  that  convinced 
me  of  the  guilty  parties  who  fired  into  Catron's  office; 
but  I  was  never  able  to  satisfy  myself  positively,  as  to 
the  motive,  though  I  think  it  was  done  to  kill  Ancheta 
and  Governor  Stover  for  their  part  in  helping  to  pass 
a  public  free  school  law  for  the  Territory.  Of  course  it 
could  have  been  done  by  these  few  religious  fanatics 
without  the  sanction  of  the  Church,  even  though  the 
priests  and  Church  officials  did  fight  Ancheta  and  Stover, 
"tooth  and  nail,"  through  their  representatives  in  the 
legislative  halls. 

The  chances  are  the  Borreago  gang  of  "bad"  men — four 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  133 

of  whom  were  hung  for  murder  in  Santa  Fe  a  few  years 
later — had  a  hand  in  the  Ancheta  shooting.  For,  in 
visiting  Santa  Fe  with  any  of  these  Cow  Springs  sus 
pects  we  would  always  call  on  the  Borreago  boys.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  deep  friendship  between  the  two  families. 

On  laying  the  matter  before  Governor  Prince  and 
General  Bartlett,  I  advised  that  the  suspects  be  arrested, 
as  I  felt  sure  one  or  more  would  become  frightened  and 
make  a  full  confession.  But  this  was  decided  not  ad 
visable,  owing  to  the  chance  of  failure,  which  would  in 
jure  the  Republican  party,  the  suspects  being  members 
thereof.  I  believe  in  taking  chances  in  such  matters,  and 
"sink  or  swim."  The  chances  were  favorable  for  a  con 
fession,  had  they  been  jailed  under  the  impression  that 
we  knew  all  of  their  secrets.  Of  course  it  may  have  re 
sulted  in  opening  old  sores  in  New  Mexico  politics,  which 
I  knew  nothing  of;  for,  in  Spanish-speaking  countries, 
politics  make  strange  bed-fellows.  It  was  decided  best 
to  drop  the  matter  and  discontinue  the  operation. 

It  was  early  fall  when  I  took  my  departure  for  Denver. 
I  hated  to  leave,  as  I  had  found  the  climate  of  Santa  Fe 
the  finest  that  I  had  ever  been  in.  The  summers  can't 
be  beaten  anywhere,  and  the  winters  are  better  than  most 
places.  In  fact,  I  liked  it  so  well  that  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  build  a  permanent  home  there,  and  with  that  end 
in  view  I  secured  a  tract  of  land  a  short  distance  from 
the  outskirts  of  the  city  and  christened  it  the  Sunny  Slope 
Ranch. 

During  my  eight  months  in  sunny  New  Mexico  on 
this  operation,  I  saw  much  of  the  Mexican  people, 
especially  of  the  lower  classes.  I  like  them  as  a  whole, 


134  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

and  would  like  them  still  more  if  the  blood  of  their 
Spanish  sires  could  be  eradicated  so  as  to  do  away  with 
their  cruelty  to  dumb  animals.  As  a  whole,  they  are  a 
hospitable,  law-abiding  people,  although  their  gait  is  not 
very  swift,  except  when  they  fill  up  on  the  rotten,  poison 
liquors  which  are  manufactured  in  local  cellars  cheaply, 
for  this  class  of  trade,  by  Jews  and  so-jgalled  Americans 
of  the  money-grabbing  races. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  BLOODY  COEUR  D'ALENE  STRIKE — I  BECOME  RE 
CORDING  SECRETARY  OF  THE  UNION — DURING  THE 
RIOT  I  SAWED  A  HOLE  IN  THE  FLOOR  TO  ESCAPE 
FROM  BLOOD-THIRSTY  DYNAMITERS. 

After  the  smallpox  siege  I  found  myself  in  Denver 
without  a  home  or  family  ties ;  but  I  had  quite  a  fat  little 
bank  account.  My  salary  had  piled  up  during  the  eight 
months  that  I  was  gone,  as  I  had  no  occasion  to  touch 
it,  all  my  expenses,  even  to  my  laundry,  medicine  and 
doctor  bills,  having  been  paid  by  our  client,  the  Territory 
of  New  Mexico. 

This  goes  to  show  that  the  business  of  a  detective  is 
more  suitable  for  a  single  man.  In  fact  the  business  is 
unjust  and  cruel  to  the  wife,  even  though  she  does  get 
to  spend  the  biggest  part  of  her  hubby's  money  while  he 
is  absent.  She  is  deprived  of  his  company  and  protection 
when  most  needed,  and  has  to  shut  her  eyes  to  the  fact 
that  he  has  to  associate  with  all  kinds  of  women,  in  order 
to  win  a  case. 

After  a  few  weeks'  rest  in  Denver,  Mr.  McCartney 
called  me  into  his  private  office  and  told  me  to  get  ready 
for  a  long  trip  into  the  Coeur  D'Alene  mining  district  of 
northern  Idaho. 

He  explained  that  the  Miners'  Union  of  that  district 
was  raising  Hades  with  the  mine-owners  who  had  formed 
themselves  into  a  Mine-Owners'  Association  for  self- 

135 


136  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

protection,  and  that  the  Association  wanted  a  good  opera 
tive  to  join  the  Miners'  Union,  so  as  to  be  on  the  inside 
of  the  order  when  the  fast  approaching  eruption  occurred. 

I  told  Mr.  McCartney  that  I  didn't  want  this  operation 
as  my  sympathy  was  with  labor  organizations  as  against 
capital.  He  replied  that  if  such  was  the  case  I  couldn't 
do  the  Agency's  clients  justice,  and  for  that  reason  he 
would  have  to  select  another  operative. 

A  few  days  later  I  was  detailed  on  a  railroad  operation 
through  Utah  and  California,  along  with  several  other 
operatives. 

A  month  or  more  had  passed  when  one  day  in  Salt 
Lake  City,  Utah,  I  received  a  telegraph  message  from 
McCartney  instructing  me  to  come  to  Denver  on  the  first 
train.  This  I  did,  and  on  meeting  McCartney  he  said: 
"Now  Charlie,  you  have  got  to  go  to  the  Coeur  D'Alenes. 
You're  the  only  man  I've  got  who  can  go  there  and  get 
into  the  Miner's  Union.  They  are  on  their  guard  against 
detectives  and  they  became  suspicious  of  the  operative  I 
sent  up  there,  and  ran  him  out  of  the  country.  We  know 
the  leaders  to  be  a  desperate  lot  of  criminals  of  the 
Molly  Maguire  type,  and  you  will  find  it  so.  I  will  let 
your  own  conscience  be  the  judge,  after  you  get  into 
their  Union.  If  you  decide  they  are  in  the  right  and 
the  Mine-owners  are  in  the  wrong,  you  can  throw  up  the 
operation  without  further  permission  from  me." 

This  seemed  fair,  so  I  accepted  and  began  making 
preparations  for  at  least  a  year's  absence. 

In  Wallace,  Idaho,  the  central  town  of  the  Coeur 
D'Alene  district,  I  had  a  secret  meeting  with  a  Mr. 
Hankins  who  represented  Mr.  John  Hayes  Drummond, 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  137 

the  President  of  the  Mine-Owners'  Association,  and  John 
A.  French,  Secretary  of  the  Association.  The  importance 
of  my  work  and  the  difficulties  under  which  I  would  have 
to  operate,  were  laid  before  me.  I  was  told  that  the 
Miners'  Union  were  on  the  lookout  for  detectives,  and 
that  the  Union  in  Burk  had  become  suspicious  of  a  Thiel 
detective  by  the  name  of  Mitch  G.,  and  ran  him  out  of 
the  country  a  short  time  previous. 

It  was  agreed  that  no  one  in  Gem  knew  me,  outside 
of  the  mine  superintendent,  John  Monihan,  and  that  I 
would  be  described  to  him  so  that  he  would  put  me  to 
work  when  I  applied  for  a  job. 

A  day  or  two  later  I  applied  to  John  Monihan  in  a 
natural  way,  and  he  turned  me  over  to  one  of  his  shift- 
bosses,  Peterson,  on  the  Gem  mine,  who  was  told  to  make 
a  place  for  me,  Peterson  of  course  not  knowing  who  I 
was.  I  gave  the  name  of  C.  Leon  Allison.  I  worked 
as  a  regular  miner  two  weeks,  on  day-shift,  and  the  next 
two,  on  the  night-shift. 

Gem  was  a  camp  of  two  or  three  stores  and  half  a 
dozen  saloons.  The  three  mines,  the  Gem,  Helen  Frisco, 
and  Black  Bear,  which  supported  the  camp,  were  near 
by,  so  that  the  men  boarded  in  town.  About  500  miners 
worked  in  these  three  mines,  besides  hundreds  of  other 
surface  workmen ;  hence  the  little  camp  was  a  lively  place 
after  night  when  the  saloons  and  gambling  halls  were 
running  full  blast.  I  put  in  much  of  my  time  at  the 
saloons  and  made  myself  a  "good  fellow"  among  "the 
boys." 

My  worst  trouble  was  writing  reports  and  mailing 
them.  These  reports  had  to  be  sent  to  St.  Paul, 


138  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Minnesota,  where  our  Agency  had  an  office,  with  my 
Chicago  friend,  John  O'Flyn,  as  superintendent.  There 
they  were  typewritten  and  mailed  back  to  John  A.  Finch, 
Secretary  of  the  Mine-Owners'  Association,  where  all  the 
mine-owners  could  read  them. 

The  Gem  Post  Office  was  in  the  store  of  a  man  by  the 
name  of  Samuels,  a  rabid  anarchist  and  Union  sympa 
thizer;  so  for  that  reason  I  dare  not  mail  reports  there. 
"Big  Frank"  was  the  deputy  post-master  and  handled 
most  of  the  mail.  He  was  a  member  of  the  Gem  Miners' 
Union,  consequently  I  had  to  walk  down  to  Wallace, 
four  miles,  to  mail  reports;  and  for  fear  of  being  held 
up  I  had  to  slip  down  there  in  the  dark. 

Two  weeks  after  my  arrival  in  Gem,  I  joined  the  Gem 
Miners'  Union,  and  a  couple  of  months  later  I  was 
elected  recording  secretary  of  the  Union.  Geo.  A.  Petti- 
bone,  a  rabid  anarchist,  was  its  financial  secretary. 

Now  that  I  had  become  an  officer  of  the  Gem  Union,  I 
concluded  to  quit  work;  but  I  didn't  want  to  quit  of  my 
own  accord.  I  wanted  shift-boss  Peterson  to  discharge 
me  so  that  I  couldn't  get  any  more  work  in  the  camp. 
In  order  to  be  "fired,"  I  shirked  my  duty  and  was  dis 
charged. 

That  night  I  got  on  a  big  "jamboree,"  and  spent  my 
wages  freely. 

In  order  not  to  desert  the  Miners'  Union  to  hunt  work 
elsewhere,  as  trouble  with  the  Mine-Owners'  Association 
was  expected  soon,  I  pretended  to  send  to  my  rich  father 
in  Texas  for  money  to  carry  me  through  the  winter. 

Now  that  I  was  not  working,  I  had  plenty  of  time  to 
accompany  Geo.  A.  Pettibone  and  others  to  the  houses 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  139 

of  supposed  "scabs,"  or  of  men  who  wouldn't  pay  their 
dues  to  the  Union,  and  order  them  to  leave  the  country. 
Often  they  were  stubborn  and  wouldn't  go.  Then  we 
would  get  up  a  mob  by  holding  a  citizens'  mass-meeting 
to  run  them  out  of  the  State. 

We  would  first  hold  a  special  meeting  of  the  Union,  to 
resolve  on  running  certain  ones  out.  Then  boys,  ringing 
bells,  would  be  sent  through  the  town  calling  a  citizens' 
meeting  in  the  Union  Hall;  but  no  one  except  members 
were  allowed  to  enter  the  hall.  Then  it  would  be  de 
clared  the  sense  of  the  citizens'  indignation  meeting  that 
certain  "scabs"  be  run  out  of  the  State.  Often  as  many  as 
half  a  dozen  "scabs"  would  be  taken  from  their  homes, 
sometimes  with  weeping  wives  and  children  begging  for 
mercy,  and  with  tin  pans  and  the  music  of  bells,  they 
would  be  marched  up  and  down  the  street  to  be  spit  upon 
and  branded  as  "scabs,"  before  the  public  eye.  Then, 
half  clothed  and  without  food,  the  poor  devils  would  be 
marched  up  the  canyon,  a  few  miles  beyond  the  big 
mining  camp  of  Burk,  three  miles  distant,  and  told  to 
"hit  the  road"  and  never  return  at  the  peril  of  their  lives. 
Pistols  would  be  fired  over  their  heads  to  give  them  a 
good  running  start. 

By  this  route,  during  the  winters,  the  snow  is  waist 
deep  over  the  Bitter  Root  range  of  mountains,  and  not  a 
living  inhabitant  until  reaching  Thompson's  Falls,  Mon 
tana,  a  distance  of  about  thirty  miles. 

This  thing  was  kept  up  all  winter,  and  I  learned  a  few 
new  lessons  in  human  nature.  My  mind  had  taken  a 
regular  "flop"  on  the  labor  union  question,  since  telling 
Superintendent  McCartney  that  my  sympathies  were  with 


140  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

the  unions.  I  had  found  the  leaders  of  the  Coeur 
D'Alene  unions  to  be,  as  a  rule,  a  vicious,  heartless  gang 
of  anarchists.  Many  of  them  had  been  rocked  in  the 
cradle  of  anarchy  at  Butte  City,  Montana,  while  others 
were  escaped  outlaws  and  toughs  from  other  States. 

Of  course,  after  a  batch  of  these  "scabs"  were  run 
over  the  range  to  Montana,  the  daily  papers  of  Spokane, 
Washington  and  Anaconda  and  Butte,  Montana,  would 
come  out  with  glaring  head-lines  of  how  the  citizens  had 
held  a  mass-meeting  and  ordered  these  "scabs"  deported ; 
that  the  unions  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I  knew  better 
though,  but  the  general  public  didn't. 

Thus  did  the  winter  of  1891-92  pass. 

Gem  was  not  the  only  transgressor  of  our  glorious 
Constitution.  The  deporting  of  "scabs"  was  going  on  in 
the  other  camps,  though  Gem  and  Burk  took  the  lead. 

During  the  winter  I  often  attended  the  Burk  Union 
meetings.  At  one  of  these  meetings,  I  had  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  with  my  own  eyes  a  Miners'  Union  Irishman, 
not  many  years  from  the  "ould  sod,"  who  was  for  law, 
order  and  justice,  first,  last,  and  all  the  time.  He  was  a 
fine-looking  specimen  of  manhood,  with  jet  black  hair, 
eyes  and  mustache.  He  made  a  fine  speech,  but  after  he 
had  finished  he  was  sat  down  on  so  hard  by  the  rabid 
leaders,  that  he  couldn't  get  his  jaws  in  working  order 
again  during  the  whole  winter.  I  saw  him  at  many  meet 
ings  after  that,  but  he  never  said  a  word.  There  had 
been  talk  of  branding  him  as  a  "scab."  This  was  a  warn 
ing  to  others  to  fall  in  line  and  be  true  union  men. 

In  joining  the  Gem  Union,  I  had  to  take  an  iron-clad 
"Molly  Maguire"  oath  that  I  would  never  turn  traitor  to 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  141 

the  union  cause ;  that  if  I  did,  death  would  be  my  reward, 
etc. 

Early  in  the  Spring  of  1892  war  was  declared  between 
the  Mine-Owners'  Association  and  the  Executive  Com 
mittee  of  the  Coeur  D'Alene  Central  Organization  of  the 
Miners'  Unions.  This  Central  Union  was  made  up  of 
delegates  from  each  local  union.  Geo.  A.  Pettibone 
represented  the  Gem  Union  and  he  told  me  that  they  had 
selected  a  secret  crowd  of  the  worst  men  in  the  unions  to 
put  the  fear  of  Christ  into  the  hearts  of  "scabs";  that  if 
these  secret  men  committed  murder  the  union  would  stick 
by  them,  but  that  no  one  outside  the  Executive  Com 
mittee,  of  which  he  was  a  member,  was  to  know  who 
these  secret  men  were,  and  their  pay  came  from  a  fund 
reserved  "for  the  good  of  the  order." 

After  war  was  declared,  all  the  mines  in  the  Coeur 
D'Alenes  were  closed  down.  Shortly  after  this,  a  big 
mass-meeting  was  called  in  Wallace  to  hear  both  sides  of 
the  trouble. 

The  Unions  of  Gem,  Burk,  Mullens  and  Wardner,  had 
the  meeting  packed  with  the  intention  of  choking  off 
the  Mine-Owners'  side  of  the  question,  but  the  man  whom 
the  Mine-Owners  selected  to  represent  their  side  of  the 
case,  was  not  of  the  quitting-  kind.  He  wouldn't  be 
choked  off.  He  would  wait  until  the  cursing,  hissing 
and  abuse  ceased  and  then  start  in  anew. 

Back  in  my  part  of  the  Hall,  where  sat  Paddy  Burk 
and  a  gang  of  dynamiters,  there  was  talk  of  making  a 
rush  for  the  stage  and  in  the  excitement  pitch  this  speech- 
making  "scab"  out  of  the  upstairs  window  to  the  pave 
ment  below.  It  looked  very  much  as  though  the  meeting 


142  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

would  end  in  a  riot,  but  finally  cooler  heads  got  control, 
and  Attorney  W.  T.  Skoll,  now  one  of  the  leading  lawyers 
of  Spokane,  Washington,  was  allowed  to  speak  his  little 
piece. 

Shortly  after  this,  a  train  load  of  "scabs"  with  Joe 
Warren  at  their  head,  were  imported  into  the  district 
from  other  States.  We  heard  they  were  on  the  way. 
Then  the  Central  Union's  headquarters  in  Wallace  be 
came  a  busy  place.  I  was  made  one  of  the  despatchers  to 
carry  messages  on  horse-back,  when  necessary. 

Tom  O'Brien  was  the  President,  and  Joe  Poynton  was 
the  Secretary  of  the  Central  Union.  I  was  in  their  com 
pany  a  good  deal,  and  caught  on  to  many  of  their  secrets. 
One  of  them  was  that  the  sheriff  of  the  county,  Mr. 
Cunningham,  was  in  with  the  union  even  to  murder. 

On  the  day  the  "scabs"  were  to  arrive  in  Wallace,  there 
was  great  excitement.  The  drunken  sheriff  was  on  his 
fine  horse  with  a  gang  of  union  deputies  to  preserve 
order,  but  in  reality  to  help  shoot  down  "scabs,"  if  the 
Central  Union  desired  it. 

The  funny  part  of  it  was  that  the  mine-owners  caught 
the  union  napping  and  stole  a  march  on  them.  Of  course 
I  had  been  keeping  them  posted  as  to  the  unions'  in 
tentions. 

Instead  of  the  train  stopping  in  Wallace,  as  expected, 
the  engineer  put  on  a  full  head  of  steam  and  went  flying 
up  the  canyon  towards  Burk.  The  poor  sheriff  waved 
his  order  of  arrest  under  the  State  laws  for  importing 
armed  thugs,  as  he  ran  after  the  train  on  his  swift  horse. 
Before  the  armed  gang  of  union  men  could  get  back  to 
Burk  afoot,  it  being  seven  miles,  Joe  Warren  had  un- 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  143 

loaded  his  100  or  more  armed  "scabs"  and  marched  them 
up  the  mountain  side  to  the  union  mine,  which  had  been 
prepared  secretly  for  their  reception. 

Late  that  evening  Burke  was  jammed  full  of  angry 
miners  begging  President  O'Brien  for  permission  to  blow 
those  "scabs"  off  the  face  of  the  earth.  Joe  Poynton, 
Geo.  A.  Pettibone,  and  the  rest  of  the  rabid  leaders,  were 
eager  for  bloodshed,  but  O'Brien  was  the  dam  which  held 
the  angry  waters  of  anarchy  back. 

A  committee  of  level-headed  unionists  was  finally  ap 
pointed  to  go  with  the  sheriff  and  arrest  Joe  Warren 
peaceably,  if  possible.  Warren  submitted  to  arrest  so 
as  to  test  the  law,  and  he  left  a  good  man  to  act  in  his 
place.  In  submitting  to  arrest,  Joe  Warren  did  a  foolish 
thing,  and  he  would  have  thought  so,  could  he  have  heard 
the  plots  to  assassinate  him  that  night,  as  I  did.  Warren 
no  doubt  realized  his  danger  when  he  was  surrounded  by 
the  hundreds  of  angry  miners.  They  were  clamoring  for 
his  blood;  but  O'Brien  and  the  drunken  sheriff  argued 
that  if  he  was  harmed  while  under  arrest  it  would  ruin 
the  unions.  During  all  this  excitement  Warren,  who  was 
in  the  prime  of  manhood  and  stood  about  six  feet  four 
in  his  bare  feet,  was  cool,  though  a  little  pale  behind  the 
ears.  Late  at  night  he  was  taken  to  Wallace  under  a 
heavy  guard. 

To  record  the  fights  and  cruel  acts  of  the  union  on 
"scabs"  for  the  next  few  months,  would  require  a  book 
twice  the  size  of  this. 

Other  train  loads  of  "scabs"  were  brought  into  Gem 
and  placed  in  the  Helen-Frisco  and  Gem  mines  under 
armed  guards. 


144  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

A  bloody  revolution  was  planned  for  July  sometime. 
On  the  4th  day  of  July  the  American  flags  were  shot  full 
of  holes  and  spat  upon. 

Previous  to  this  the  secrets  of  the  unions  were  pub 
lished  in  the  Coeur  D'Alene  "Barbarian,"  a  weekly 
journal  run  in  the  interest  of  the  mine-owners,  and  pub 
lished  at  Wardner,  by  a  Mr.  Brown. 

Everything  pointed  to  these  union  secrets  having 
leaked  out  of  the  Gem  union.  Therefore,  Dallas,  a 
one-eyed,  two-legged,  Irish  hyena  from  the  Butte  City, 
Montana  union,  was  sent  to  Gem  to  discover  the  spy 
and  traitor  within  their  ranks. 

After  Dallas  had  been  in  Gem  a  few  days  doing  secret 
work,  a  special  meeting  of  our  Gem  union  was  called. 
On  that  day  a  rank  union  man  by  the  name  of  Johnny 
Murphy  confided  in  me  and  told  me  that  I  was  suspected 
of  being  the  traitor  who  supplied  the  mine  owners  with 
the  secrets  of  the  union,  as  I  had  access  to  the  books 
and  made  too  many  trips  to  Wallace  to  mail  letters ;  that 
I  had  been  watched  mailing  letters  in  Wallace  often.  He 
said  that  he  felt  confident  that  I  was  not  a  detective,  but 
for  my  personal  safety  he  advised  me  to  skip  out  and 
not  attend  this  special  union  meeting,  as  the  chances 

were  I  would  be  killed.  He  said  that  h 1  was  going 

to  be  turned  loose  within  the  next  few  days  or  weeks, 
and  that  I  would  not  be  safe  in  the  district,  even  though 
innocent. 

I  assured  him  that  I  was  innocent  and  that  I  would 
be  a  true  soldier  by  sticking  to  my  guns. 

That  night  the  large  union  hall  was  packed,  as  it  was 
known  that  Dallas  would  attempt  to  show  up  the  spy  who 
had  given  out  the  union  secrets. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  145 

When  the  meeting  was  called  to  order  by  the  President 
of  the  Gem  union,  a  Mr.  Oliver  Hughes,  I  sat  by  his 
side  upon  the  raised  platform,  or  stage.  With  us  on  the 
stage  were  Pettibone,  Eaton,  of  the  Central  Union,  and 
Dallas,  the  Secretary  of  the  Butte  City,  Montana  union. 

After  I  had  read  the  minutes  of  the  last  meeting  from 
my  book  as  recording  secretary,  Dallas  got  up  to  make 
his  speech.  A  pin  could  have  been  heard  drop,  every 
thing  was  so  still. 

He  started  out  with  a  shot  at  me,  as  he  glanced  in  my 
direction.  He  said:  "Brothers,  you  have  allowed  a  spy 
to  enter  your  ranks,  and  he  now  sits  within  reach  of  my 
hand.  He  will  never  leave  this  hall  alive.  His  fate  is 
doomed.  You  know  your  duty  when  it  conies  to  dealing 
with  traitors  to  our  noble  cause  for  the  upbuilding  of 
true  manhood."  Here  the  applause  broke  loose  and  I 
joined  in.  I  clapped  until  the  palms  of  my  hands  were 
sore,  despite  the  fact  that  I  felt  a  little  shaky  as  to  what 
lay  in  store  for  me. 

In  a  "Wess  Harding"  shoulder-scabbard  under  my  left 
arm,  rested  old  Colts  45,  and  around  my  waist  under 
neath  my  pants  was  strapped  my  pearl-handle  bowie 
knife.  My  mind  was  made  up  to  start  business  at  the 
first  approach  of  real  danger.  Of  course  I  didn't  expect 
to  last  long  among  those  hundreds  of  strong  men,  many 
of  whom  were  armed,  but  I  figured  that  they  couldn't 
get  but  one  of  me,  while  I  stood  a  chance  to  kill  several 
of  them.  I  would  have  been  like  a  cat  thrown  into  a 
fiery  furnace — spit  fire  so  long  as  life  held  out. 

After  Dallas  wound  up  his  long  fiery  speech,  which  I 

must  confess  was  delivered  in  a  masterful  manner,  a 
10 


146  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

recess  of  ten  minutes  was  announced.  The  president  then 
asked  me  to  step  down  off  the  stage  while  they  examined 
my  book.  I  did  so.  As  these  officials  turned  each  leaf  of 
the  large  book  over,  my  eyes  were  on  them.  Finally 
they  came  to  something  wrong,  and  Dallas  looked  down 
at  me,  with  a  look  of,  "Oh  we've  got  you  now."  I 
stepped  up  near  the  platform  and  said :  "What's  the  mat 
ter  gentlemen,  you  seem  to  be  puzzled?"  Dallas  replied 
in  an  angry  voice :  "Here's  a  leaf  cut  out  of  this  book. 
We  want  an  explanation."  I  answered  that  the  presi 
dent,  Mr.  Oliver  Hughes  had  ordered  me  to  cut  that  leaf 
out.  The  president  jumped  up  with  an  oath  and  said 
it  was  a  lie.  I  then  referred  him  to  the  time  when  the 
members  of  the  Burk  union  came  down  to  hold  a  joint 
meeting  with  us,  at  which  time  it  was  voted  on  and 
decided  to  pull  up  the  pumps  of  the  Poorman  and  Tiger 
mines  at  Burk,  and  flood  the  lower  workings  of  these 
deep  properties ;  that  I  wrote  down  the  full  facts  of  our 
resolution  and  read  it  at  the  following  meeting;  my  duty 
requiring  me  to  read  the  minutes  of  the  previous  meet 
ing;  and  that  then  he  (the  president)  ordered  me  to  cut 
out  this  leaf  and  burn  it,  as  nothing  of  that  kind  should  be 
put  in  the  minutes  to  be  on  record,  in  case  the  book  fell 
into  the  hands  of  the  enemy. 

The  president  then  acknowledged  the  fact,  and  Dallas 
smothered  the  wrath  which  he  had  been  accumulating 
for  the  explosion  to  follow. 

Instead  of  burning  the  leaf,  I  had  sent  it  to  St.  Paul 
along  with  my  reports. 

Finally  I  got  back  on  the  stage  when  the  meeting  was 
again  called  to  order,  after  my  book  had  been  carefully 
gone  through. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  147 

The  president  then  made  a  conservative  speech  and 
advised  that  nothing  be  done  to-night  that  might  bring 
discredit  on  the  union.  He  said  the  time  would  soon  be 
here  when  we  could  act.  Of  course  I  helped  cheer,  and 
it  came  from  my  heart  this  time,  as  I  could  see  daylight 
ahead.  The  meeting  was  then  adjourned. 

I  have  no  doubt  but  that  Dallas  and  his  gang  thought 
that  I  would  show  my  guilt  during  and  after  his  blood 
curdling  speech,  and  that  during  the  ten  minutes'  recess 
I  would  make  some  kind  of  an  excuse  to  the  outer  guard 
at  the  door  so  as  to  get  out.  But  I  was  too  "foxy"  to 
make  a  break  like  that.  Neither  did  I  show  guilt  in  my 
actions  or  looks.  I  had  learned  to  control  my  looks 
while  playing  poker  in  cow-camps  on  the  range,  so  my 
opponents  couldn't  guess  the  value  of  my  hand  by  the 
looks  of  my  face. 

A  couple  of  days  after  the  above  occurrence,  Mrs. 
Shipley  called  my  attention  to  a  man  sitting  on  a  box  in 
front  of  the  postoffice,  and  informed  me  that  she  had 
noticed  him  following  me.  Looking  through  the  store 
window,  I  recognized  Tim  W's  chum,  "Black  Jack"  from 
Tuscarora,  Nevada.  He  had  helped  in  the  blowing  up 
of  Prinz  and  Felling  and  we  had  heard  that  he  skipped 
out  to  Africa.  Later  I  caught  him  watching  me,  but 
didn't  pretend  to  notice  it.  Whether  he  had  really 
recognized  me  or  was  trying  to  place  me,  I  never  knew ; 
but  as  I  later  found  out  that  he  was  a  member  of  the 
Miners'  Union,  I  concluded  that  he  had  recognized  and 
given  me  away  to  the  union,  for  the  chances  are  by  this 
time  he  knew  my  business. 

I  had  bought  a  two-story  building  in  the  center  of 


148  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

town,  and  in  the  store  part,  Mrs.  Kate  Shipley  and  I 
started  a  small  store.  Upstairs  there  were  12  furnished 
rooms  and  I  gave  Mrs.  Shipley  half  the  income  from 
these  to  run  the  place.  She  roomed  back  of  the  store 
with  her  little  five-year-old  boy,  while  my  room  was  up 
stairs. 

Mrs.  Shipley,  whose  husband  was  on  their  farm  in 
Dakota,  had  no  idea  that  I  was  a  detective. 

To  keep  prowlers  out  of  our  back  yard,  I  built  a  high 
board-fence  and  made  it  tight  so  as  to  shut  out  the  public 
gaze.  As  a  precaution  in  case  of  trouble,  I  left  the  bot 
tom  of  one  wide  board  loose  so  that  I  could  crawl  out 
instead  of  going  over  the  fence. 

At  our  next  regular  meeting  night  of  the  union,  early 
in  the  evening,  Billy  Flynn,  a  brother-in-law  to  John 
Day,  with  whom  I  had  previously  roomed,  called  me  off 
to  myself.  He  was  pretty  drunk.  He  began  crying  and 
said  he  hated  to  go  back  on  union  principles  by  warning 
a  spy  and  traitor  of  danger,  but  said  he  always  liked  me 
and  he  couldn't  believe  that  I  was  a  Dickenson  detective. 
Of  course  I  assured  him  that  I  was  not.  Then  he  shook 
my  hand  and  said  I  didn't  look  degraded  enough  for  a 
detective  who  would  take  a  false  oath  by  entering  a  union 
in  order  to  give  away  their  secrets.  I  asked  Flynn  to 
tell  me  all  the  facts  as  to  why  I  was  suspected  of  being 
a  detective.  He  replied  that  he  couldn't  do  that  as  he 
was  sworn  to  secrecy ;  but  said  that  some  one  who  knew 
that  I  was  a  detective,  had  recognized  me.  He  further 
said  that  I  was  doomed  to  die  the  death  of  a  traitor,  and 
he  advised  that  I  skip  out  and  not  attend  the  union  meet 
ing  that  night. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  149 

Dallas  was  still  in  town,  and  I  saw  him  with  "Black 
Jack"  who  no  doubt  had  given  me  away  to  the  union. 

The  day  had  been  one  of  excitement.  Many  "scabs" 
had  been  caught  and  nearly  beat  to  death.  "Scabs"  were 
fed  at  the  mines  and  seldom  ventured  away  from  their 
quarters,  but  when  they  did,  they  were  caught  and 
pounded  nearly  to  death. 

Early  in  the  day  John  A.  French  had  come  to  Gem,  and 
was  almost  mobbed  by  Joe  Poynton  and  a  gang.  He 
was  glad  to  get  back  to  Wallace  with  a  whole  hide. 

The  time  for  me,  as  recording  secretary,  to  be  in  the 
union  hall  had  passed,  the  hour  being  8  P.  M.  About 
8:30  P.  M.  a  committee  of  three  came  to  my  room  to  see 
what  was  the  matter  that  I  didn't  attend  the  meeting. 

In  my  room  I  kept  a  Winchester  rifle  and  100  cart 
ridges,  secreted  under  the  mattress  of  my  bed,  and  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  to  stay  close  to  these.  I  told  the  com 
mittee  to  go  back  and  I  would  be  at  the  hall  in  10 
minutes.  When  they  had  gone  I  wrote  out  my  resigna 
tion  as  recording  secretary  and  as  a  member  of  the 
Miners'  Union.  In  it  I  told  of  them  planning  to  knife 
me  in  the  dark  under  the  false  impression  that  I  was  a 
Dickenson  detective,  one  of  the  lowest  and  most  degrad 
ing  professions  that  mortal  man  could  follow,  and  to  be 
accused  of  such  a  black  crime  behind  my  back  was  more 
than  I  could  stand,  and  for  that  reason  I  would  never 
put  foot  in  their  union  hall  again.  I  gave  this  resignation 
to  the  door-keeper  at  the  union  hall  about  half  a  block 
from  my  place,  and  then  returned  to  our  store. 

After  the  union  meeting  had  adjourned,  the  hall  was 
thrown  open  for  a  public  dance.  Men  kept  pouring  in 
from  outlying  camps. 


150  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

While  I  was  standing  in  the  dark  in  front  of  the  union 
hall  watching  the  dancers  through  the  window,  a  leading 
member  of  the  Mullen  union  who  had  just  arrived  in 
town,  recognized  me  and  we  had  a  confidential  talk  on 
union  matters.  Of  course  he  hadn't  yet  heard  of  my 
downfall  in  the  union.  He  supposed  that  I  knew  all  the 
secrets  of  coming  events  and  therefore  it  was  easy  for 
me  to  lead  him  on.  From  him  I  found  out  that  blood 
would  flow  here  within  the  next  few  days ;  that  it  would 
amount  to  a  regular  uprising  against  "scabs"  and  the 
mine  owners.  He  said  the  Homestead,  Pa.,  riots  of  a 
few  days  previous  would  be  child's  play  as  compared  to 
our  approaching  storm.  He  thought  it  was  billed  to  come 
off  the  following  night,  but  wasn't  sure,  as  the  execu 
tive  committee  of  the  Central  Union  had  not  given  out 
the  exact  date.  But  he  said  the  outside  unions  had  al 
ready  been  ordered  to  concentrate  their  forces  and  arms 
in  Gem,  which  would  be  the  center  of  action. 

About  1 1 130  P.  M.  a  member  of  an  outside  union,  who 
had  not  learned  of  my  being  branded  as  a  traitor,  told 
me  that  two  "scabs"  from  the  Gem  mine  were  to  be 
murdered  and  thrown  into  the  river  just  as  soon  as  the 
lights  in  the  union  hall  were  put  out,  after  the  dance, 
which  would  only  last  until  midnight.  He  said  that 
these  two  "scabs"  had  slipped  over  from  the  Gem  mine 
to  get  a  drink,  and  that  a  gang  of  union  men  had  them 
at  Dutch  Henry's  saloon  getting  them  drunk  so  as  to 
kill  them. 

A  few  minutes  before  midnight  I  entered  Dutch 
Henry's  saloon  in  hopes  of  getting  a  chance  to  warn 
these  two  "scabs"  of  their  approaching  danger.  They 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  151 

were  surrounded  by  a  dozen  union  men  who  were  patting 
them  on  the  back  and  making  them  think  they  were  fine 
fellows.  One  of  them  was  a  giant  in  size  and  said  he 
could  whip  any  union  man  in  Gem. 

While  I  was  seated  in  the  saloon  watching  for  a 
chance  to  warn  these  "scabs,"  I  saw  a  crowd  collecting 
outside  in  front  of  the  saloon.  I  could  see  through  the 
front  window  that  they  were  watching  me.  It  only 
lacked  ten  minutes  of  midnight. 

Just  then  the  front  door  opened  and  old  Shoemaker 
Roberson  walked  up  to  me  and  said :  "Say  Allison,  you 
had  better  duck  your  nut  out  of  here,  and  do  it  quick." 
I  told  him  that  I  would  leave  when  I  got  good  and  ready. 
He  then  went  out  and  joined  the  crowd  outside.  I 
stepped  up  to  the  bar  and  drank  a  glass  of  beer,  then  went 
out  at  the  front  door. 

On  reaching  the  sidewalk  the  crowd,  led  by  a  hair-lip 
son  of  the  scum  of  society,  called  "Johnny  get  your 
gun,"  started  to  enclose  me  in  a  circle.  I  sprang  out  into 
the  street  and  with  my  hand  on  my  cocked  pistol, 
threatened  to  kill  the  first  man  who  undertook  to  pull  a 
gun.  In  this  manner  I  backed  across  the  street  to  the 
hallway  leading  up  to  my  room.  As  I  entered  the  hall 
way  still  facing  the  25  or  30  men,  "Johnny  get  your  gun" 

said:  "Oh,  you  d d  traitor,  we'll  get  you  before 

morning."  At  this  the  crowd  split  and  ran  around  my 
building  to  prevent  me  from  escaping.  A  few  moments 
later,  through  a  rear  upstairs  window  I  saw  men  with 
rifles  guarding  the  rear  of  my  high  board  fence.  I  could 
also  see  three  men  with  rifles  on  the  bridge  spanning  the 
river  towards  the  Gem  mine. 


152  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

There  were  no  back  stairs  to  my  building,  but  the 
window  to  my  room  opened  out  in  a  narrow  alleyway 
between  my  building  and  Jerry  Nelson's  Hotel,  and  here 
I  had  placed  an  old  ladder  just  for  such  an  emergency  as 
this. 

With  my  Winchester  rifle  and  pockets  full  of  ammuni 
tion,  I  crawled  down  this  ladder  and  thence  to  the  board 
previously  left  loose  at  the  bottom.  A  light  shove  dis 
placed  the  fence  board,  and  on  my  hands  and  knees  I 
crawled  out  by  the  side  of  a  large  fallen  tree.  The  board 
being  put  back  in  place,  I  was  now  in  a  timbered  swamp 
near  the  bank  of  Canyon  Creek.  The  night  was  dark, 
and  by  crawling  between  logs  and  in  brush,  I  reached 
the  river,  which  was  waded  in  a  dark  place  under  over 
hanging  trees.  Then  to  prevent  being  seen  by  the  guards 
on  the  bridge,  I  had  to  crawl  on  my  stomach,  inch  by 
inch,  for  quite  a  distance.  On  reaching  a  place  where  it 
was  safe  to  stand  up,  I  ran  to  the  Gem  mine,  a  few  hun 
dred  yards  distant.  I  found  John  Monihan,  the  superin 
tendent,  up  and  expecting  trouble  on  account  of  the 
town  filling  up  with  union  men,  and  guards  being  placed 
on  the  bridge.  I  informed  him  that  two  of  his  men  were 
to  be  murdered  in  Dutch  Henry's  saloon. 

While  we  and  some  of  the  Thiel  guards  were  figuring 
on  the  best  way  to  rescue  those  men,  the  town  constable 
under  the  Justice  of  the  Peace,  Geo.  A.  Pettibone,  came 
over  to  tell  Mr.  Monihan  that  two  of  his  men  had  been 
"slugged"  and  one  of  them  was  about  dead,  and  that  the 
badly  wounded  one  had  been  dragged  to  the  deadline  at 
the  bridge  near  where  the  company's  office  was  located. 
Monihan  and  some  of  the  guards  returned  with  the 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  153 

constable  to  get  the  wounded  man.  This  was  the  big 
fellow  who  had  been  drinking  in  Dutch  Henry's  saloon, 
and  he  was  barely  alive.  He  was  beaten  almost  into  a 
jelly,  his  jaw  and  several  ribs  being  broken.  In  fact,  he 
had  lost  all  resemblance  to  a  human  being,  except  in 
shape.  His  face  was  one  mass  of  bruised  and  bloody 
flesh. 

Monihan  called  for  volunteers  to  walk  down  to  Wallace 
four  miles,  after  the  doctor,  but  only  one  of  the  Thiel 
guards  would  consent  to  risk  his  life,  as  it  was  feared 
the  road  to  Wallace  was  guarded  by  union  men,  and  this 
guard  refused  to  go  alone. 

Rather  than  see  this  fellow  die  without  the  care  of  a 
doctor,  I  accompanied  the  Thiel  guard.  We  arrived  in 
Wallace,  walking  on  the  railroad  grade,  without  mishap. 
Dr.  Simms  was  awakened  and  went  back  with  the  guard. 
By  that  time  it  was  about  3 130  A.  M. 

I  then  went  to  report  matters  to  the  Secretary  of  the 
Mine-Owners'  Association,  John  A.  French.  Mr.  French 
was  himself  a  millionaire,  owning  many  mines  and  steam 
ships  on  the  Pacific  coast.  I  found  him  in  bed  and  told 
him  to  prepare  for  riots  within  the  next  couple  of  days. 
He  begged  me  to  leave  the  country  and  not  return  to 
Gem,  when  I  told  him  the  facts;  but  I  told  him  that  I 
had  enlisted  for  the  war  and  would  stay  and  see  the 
finish.  I  figured  that  a  good  sailor  never  gives  up  his 
ship  until  she  is  going  down. 

I  went  to  a  saloon  and  held  the  Winchester  rifle  in 
my  hand  until  daylight,  at  which  time  the  morning  train 
went  to  Gem  and  Burk,  the  latter  place  being  the  end 
of  that  branch  line. 


154  'A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

On  the  train  I  found  Geo.  A.  Pettibone  who  had  gone 
to  Wardner  in  the  night.  He  had  with  him  a  delegation 
of  union  leaders  from  Wardner  and  a  Catholic  priest. 
I  never  knew  what  the  priest  was  doing  in  such  company. 

Pettibone  asked  what  I  was  doing  with  a  rifle.  I  told 
him  that  his  union  scalawags  had  made  a  raid  on  me 
during  the  night,  and!  that  I  was  going  back  to  kill  the 
first  one  who  interfered  with  me.  He  tried  to  bulldoze 
me  from  carrying  a  rifle  into  Gem.  He  said  it  wouldn't 
be  allowed ;  but  it  was  allowed,  as  I  marched  through  the 
large  crowd  who  came  to  the  train  to  greet  the  priest 
and  union  delegation. 

Shortly  after  my  arrival,  Bill  Black,  a  desperado  who 
had  just  recovered  from  a  bullet  wound  through  the 
stomach,  was  sent  to  me  to  find  out  my  intentions.  He 
asked  if  I  intended  to  remain  in  Gem  that  night.  I  said 
yes,  that  I  would  stay  there  until  carried  out  a  corpse. 
This  seemed  to  satisfy  him.  When  he  left  he  went  direct 
to  the  union  hall  to  report  to  the  meeting  then  in  session. 

The  chances  are  they  thought  a  raid  on  me  then  would 
spoil  their  plans,  so  concluded,  as  I  didn't  intend  to  leave, 
to  not  disturb  me  until  the  general  uprising  started. 

I  remained  in  our  store,  or  in  Mrs.  Shipley's  bedroom 
back  of  the  store,  most  of  the  time. 

Mrs.  Shipley  would  visit  neighbor  women  and  report 
the  news  to  me.  It  was  said  the  uprising  would  start 
just  before  daylight. 

The  whole  day  had  been  spent  drilling  men  under 
captains  in  the  union  hall.  By  dark  the  town  was  jammed 
full  of  union  men  from  all  over  the  district.  There  were 
over  1,000  present. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  155 

Mrs.  Shipley  had  found  out  that  a  strong  guard  was 
placed  all  around  the  town  at  dark  to  prevent  any  one 
from  leaving  Gem.  I  suppose  this  was  partly  for  my 
benefit. 

About  8  P.  M.  I  concluded  to  "take  a  sneak" ;  so  I  went 
down  the  old  ladder  out  of  my  bedroom  window,  thence 
over  the  same  route  taken  the  night  before.  I  crawled 
within  30  feet  of  three  union  guards. 

I  reported  to  Mr.  Monihan  that  the  riot  was  to  start 
before  daylight.  He  then  armed  his  120  "scab"  miners, 
and  guards  were  put  out.  Until  daylight,  a  tall  fellow 
known  as  "Death  on  the  Trail"  and  I  did  scout  duty,  both 
sticking  close  together.  No  one  slept  that  night  to  speak 
of. 

When  daylight  came  I  concluded  to  beard  the  lion  in 
his  den  and  find  out  the  latest  news  from  Mrs.  Shipley. 
Putting  the  rifle  under  my  raincoat  and  holding  it  by  my 
left  side  so  it  couldn't  be  seen,  I  walked  right  by  the 
three  union  guards  on  the  bridge.  We  didn't  speak.  I 
entered  the  rear  door  of  the  Nelson  Hotel.  In  the  kitchen 
I  found  the  two  cooks  and  a  waitress,  Miss  Olson,  but 
I  only  bowed  to  them.  I  raised  the  kitchen  window  and 
jumped  through  it  into  the  narrow  alley  where  my  old 
ladder  stood.  I  found  Mrs.  Shipley  in  bed.  She  reported 
that  all  night  the  union  men  were  drilling  in  the  union 
hall.  I  then  went  into  the  store  and  through  a  side  door 
into  the  hallway  and  thence  upstairs.  A  window  to  a 
vacant  front  room  was  raised  so  that  I  could  look  up 
and  down  the  main  street.  There  were  only  a  few  armed 
men  doing  guard  duty  in  front  of  my  place.  Two  men 
with  rifles  stood  directly  under  me.  An  awning  pre- 


156  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

vented  them  from  seeing  me,  though  I  could  see  them 
through  the  crack  between  the  awning  and  the  wall. 

About  this  time  the  long-nose  clerk,  Jim  Ervin,  in 
White  &  Benders'  store,  a  few  doors  below,  stuck  his 
head  out  of  the  window  to  see  what  was  going  on.  One 
of  these  union  men,  a  big  blacksmith,  raised  his  rifle 
and  said  to  his  companion,  Tom  Whalen:  "Watch  me 

knock  that nose  off."  He  fired  and  as  I  learned 

later,  the  bullet  just  missed  the  clerk's  nose  by  a  scratch. 
It  being  6  A.  M.  this  no  doubt  was  intended  as  the  signal 
shot,  as  shooting  became  general  up  the  canyon  towards 
the  Frisco  mill,  where  armed  guards  and  "scab"  miners 
were  housed. 

I  concluded  it  was  time  for  me  to  emigrate,  so  I 
hurried  down  my  ladder  and  through  the  window  into 
the  kitchen  of  the  Nelson  Hotel.  Then  I  opened  the 
back  door  to  make  a  break  for  the  bridge  to  fight  my  way 
past  the  three  guards  there.  Just  as  I  opened  the  door, 
the  French  cook  grabbed  me  by  the  arm  and  jerked  me 
back.  I  raised  the  rifle  to  strike  him,  but  he  threw  up 
his  hands  and  said:  "For  Christ's  sake,  don't  go  out 
there.  They  are  laying  for  you.  There  are  50  men  with 
Winchester  rifles  right  around  the  corner  of  the  house. 
I  saw  them  just  now  when  I  went  after  wood." 

I  had  thrown  the  door  wide  open,  and  it  still  remained 
so. 

From  the  end  of  the  bridge  across  a  swamp  to  this 
kitchen  door,  there  was  a  board  walk,  and  on  it,  coming 
towards  us,  was  a  lone  man  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  and  un 
armed.  I  recognized  him  as  one  of  the  Thiel  guards  at 
the  Gem  mine.  He  was  about  50  yards  from  the  kitchen 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  157 

door  then.  I  said  to  the  two  cooks :  "I'll  wait  and  see 
what  they  say  to  that  guard."  We  all  three  had  our  eyes 
on  him  when  a  voice  around  the  corner  said :  "Go  back 

you  !"  He  stopped  suddenly  and  threw  up  his 

hands.  Just  then  a  shot  was  fired  and  the  poor  fellow 
fell  over  dead,  with  a  bullet  through  his  heart.  His  name 
was  Ivory  Bean,  and  he  was  an  honored  member  of  the 
K.  P.  lodge.  He  had  volunteered  to  come  over  to  the 
drug  store  after  some  medicine  for  the  big  fellow  who 
was  wounded  two  nights  before.  He  was  supposed  to 
be  dying,  and  to  relieve  his  suffering,  Bean  risked  his 
life.  He  argued  that  the  union  miners  surely  wouldn't 
harm  him  on  an  errand  of  mercy  if  he  went  in  his  shirt 
sleeves  to  show  that  he  carried  no  fire-arms.  The  poor 
fellow  hadn't  reckoned  on  the  class  of  curs  that  he  was 
dealing  with. 

This  convinced  me  that  I  was  "up  against  the  real 
thing,"  so  shutting  the  door  and  thanking  the  cook  for 
saving  my  life,  I  crawled  back  through  the  window. 
Just  as  I  did  so,  Miss  Olson  came  into  the  kitchen. 

After  Bean  fell,  the  men  at  the  Gem  mine  began  to 
pepper  the  town  of  Gem  with  rifle-bullets.  A  big  part 
of  their  shooting  was  at  the  rear  of  Daxon's  saloon — 
that  being  a  union  hang-out;  but  the  men  in  there  soon 
found  the  cellar.  Billy  Daxon  had  his  clothes  shot  full 
of  holes.  A  union  man  was  killed  by  this  shooting.  The 
firing  was  still  going  on  at  the  Frisco  Mill.  They  were 
burning  powder  up  there  in  a  reckless,  extravagant 
manner.  I  concluded  that  "war  is  hell,"  sure  enowgh, 
and  that  I  was  right  in  the  midst  of  it  without  a  way  to 
get  out. 


158  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

I  had  Mrs.  Shipley  keep  the  store  door  locked,  and  told 
her  to  not  let  any  one  in.  I  then  went  out  in  the  back 
yard  to  see  if  the  coast  was  clear  in  the  vicinity  of  my 
hole  in  the  fence.  I  looked  through  a  crack  in  the  fence 
and  discovered  two  armed  men  hiding  behind  a  big  log. 
I  then  went  into  a  storeroom  adjoining  the  fence  on  the 
east,  and  through  a  crack  saw  my  friend  Dallas  walking 
a  beat  with  a  shotgun  on  his  shoulder.  He  was  evidently 
guarding  a  rat  in  a  trap,  and  I  happened  to  be  that  rat. 

In  this  storeroom  I  discarded  my  hat  and  coat  and  in 
their  place  put  on  an  old  leather  jacket  and  a  black 
slouch  hat  Then  I  got  a  saw  and  went  into  Mrs. 
Shipley's  room,  and  next  to  the  store  wall,  tore  up  a 
square  of  carpet  and  began  sawing  a  hole  through  the 
floor.  I  sawed  out  a  place  just  large  enough  to  admit 
my  body.  This  done,  I  replaced  the  carpet  in  nice  shape, 
loosely,  over  the  hole. 

At  first  I  had  planned  a  scheme  to  barricade  the  head 
of  the  stairs  with  furniture  and  bedding  and  then 
slaughter  all  who  undertook  to  come  up  the  stairs.  Had 
I  carried  out  this  plan,  the  newspapers  would  have  had 
some  real  live  news  to  record;  but  I  hated  to  wait  up 
stairs  for  business  to  come  my  way,  hence  made  up  my 
mind  to  go  under  the  floor  and.  do  some  skirmishing, 
which  would  at  least  keep  my  mind  occupied. 

The  back  part  of  my  store  building  rested  flat  on  the 
ground,  and  the  front  part  was  up  on  piles  three  feet 
high. 

Finally  I  bade  Mrs.  Shipley  and  her  little  five-year-old 
goodbye,  and  dropped  out  of  sight.  Then  Mrs.  Shipley 
pulled  her  trunk  over  the  hole  as  per  my  instructions. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  159 

In  scouting  around  under  the  house,  I  could  find  no 
possible  way  to  get  out,  except  up  under  the  board  side 
walk  on  the  main  street.  Through  a  crack  the  width  of 
my  hand,  on  the  east  side,  I  saw  Dallas  resting  on  his 
beat.  He  was  leaning  on  his  shot-gun.  I  up  with  my 
rifle  and  took  aim  at  his  heart,  but  before  pulling  the 
trigger,  the  thought  of  the  danger  from  the  smoke  go 
ing  up  through  the  cracks  and  giving  my  hiding  place 
away,  flashed  through  my  mind,  and  the  rifle  was  taken 
from  my  shoulder. 

Just  then  an  explosion  took  place  which  shook  the 
earth.  It  was  up  towards  the  Frisco  Mill.  The  rifle 
shooting  was  still  going  on,  but  it  soon  ceased. 

In  about  20  minutes  Mrs.  Shipley  pulled  the  trunk  from 
the  hole,  and  putting  her  head  down  in  it,  cried:  "Oh, 
Mr.  Allison,  run  for  your  life.  They  have  just  blown 
up  the  Frisco  Mill  and  killed  lots  of  men  and  now 
they're  coming  after  you  to  burn  you  at  the  stake,  so 
as  to  make  an  example  of  Dickenson  detectives."  Crawl 
ing  nearer  to  the  hole  I  asked  Mrs.  Shipley  how  she  had 
found  this  out.  She  replied  that  Mrs.  Weiss,  a  strong 
union  woman,  who  was  a  friend  of  mine  while  I  was  in 
the  union,  had  just  told  her  when  she  went  across  the 
street  to  find  out  the  cause  of  the  explosion.  I  told  Mrs. 
Shipley  to  keep  cool  and  put  the  trunk  back  over  the 
hole.  It  was  explained  to  her  that  I  could  find  no  way 
to  get  out,  hence  must  stay. 

Soon  I  could  hear  the  yelling  of  more  than  1,000  throats 
as  they  came  to  get  me.  It  wasn't  long  until  the  street 
was  jammed  with  angry  men.  I  was  directly  under  the 
center  of  our  store  and  could  hear  the  leaders  command- 


160  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

ing  Mrs.  Shipley  to  open  the  door,  but  she  refused  to 
do  it.  Then  they  broke  it  down  and  the  mob  rushed  in. 
I  could  hear  Dallas'  voice  demanding-  that  she  tell  where 
I  was,  but  she  denied  having  seen  me  since  the  night 
before.  He  told  her  that  they  knew  better,  as  Miss  Olsen 
had  seen  me  crawl  through  the  window,  since  which  time 
a  heavy  guard  had  been  kept  around  the  house.  I  heard 
Mrs.  Shipley  ask  why  they  wanted  me.  Then  Dallas  re 
plied:  "He's  a  dirty  Dickenson  detective  and  we  intend 
to  burn  him  at  a  stake  as  a  warning  to  others  of  his 
kind."  Mrs.  Shipley  asked  why  they  didn't  kill  me 
yesterday  when  they  had  a  good  chance.  To  this  Dallas 
replied:  "The  time  wasn't  ripe  yesterday,  but  it  is  now 
and  we  will  find  him,  so  you  might  as  well  tell  us  or  it 
will  go  hard  with  you."  Mrs.  Shipley  then  told  them 
to  do  their  worst,  as  she  didn't  know  where  I  was.  I 
felt  like  patting  the  lady  on  the  back,  as  one  out  of  10,000 
who  wouldn't  weaken  and  tell  the  secret  with  that 
vicious  mob  around  her.  I  feared  the  child  would  tell,  as 
he  was  bawling  as  though  his  little  five-year-old  heart 
would  break. 

Now  I  could  hear  "We'll  find  the .  He's  in  this 

house,"  etc.  Then  a  rush  was  made  into  Mrs.  Shipley's 
bedroom  and  out  into  the  back  yard  and  also  upstairs. 
I  couldn't  help  but  think  of  what  a  fine  chance  I  was 
missing  for  making  a  world's  record  as  a  man-killer ;  for 
had  I  carried  out  my  first  plan,  this  was  the  moment  as 
the  rush  was  being  made  upstairs,  when  there  would 
have  been  "something  doing." 

As  I  feared  they  might  find  the  hole  in  the  floor  and 
then  set  fire  to  the  building,  I  concluded  to  get  out  of 
there,  even  though  I  had  to  fight  my  way  out. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  161 

The  only  opening  was  under  the  sidewalk,  which  was 
about  a  foot  above  the  ground.  I  had  no  idea  where  it 
would  lead  me,  but  I  thought  of  the  old  saying,  "Nothing 
risked,  nothing  gained." 

Finally  I  started  east,  towards  the  Miners'  Union  hall. 
The  store  buildings  were  built  close  together,  except  at 
my  building  where  there  was  a  narrow  alleyway  lead 
ing  to  the  rear.  It  was  in  this  narrow  passage  where 
Dallas  had  his  policeman's  beat  that  morning.  I  had  to 
crawl  on  my  stomach,  "all  same"  snake  in  the  grass ;  but  I 
had  to  move  very  slowly  as  I  was  afraid  of  being  seen  by 
the  angry  men  who  lined  the  sidewalk  as  thick  as  they 
could  stand.  Some  of  the  cracks  in  the  sidewalk  were  an 
inch  or  more  wide.  After  going  the  width  of  two  store 
buildings,  I  stopped  to  rest,  and  while  doing  so,  I  lay 
on  my  back  so  as  to  look  up  through  a  wide  crack.  I 
could  see  the  men's  eyes  and  hear  what  they  said.  Most 
of  their  talk  was  about  the  "scabs"  killed  when  they 
blew  up  the  Frisco  Mill  with  giant  powder.  Finally  one 
big  Irishman  with  a  brogue  as  broad  as  the  Atlantic 
Ocean,  said:  "Faith  and  why  don't  they  bring  that 
spalpeen  out.  I'm  wanting  to  spit  in  his  face,  the  dirty 
thraitor.  We  Emericans  have  got  to  shtand  on  our 
rights  and  show  the  worreld  that  we  can  fight."  Of 
course  I  could  have  told  this  good  "Emerican"  citizen 
the  reason  for  the  delay  in  bringing  me  out  to  be  burnt  at 
a  stake ;  and  I  could  also  have  told  him  that  he  was  then 
missing  a  good  opportunity  of  spitting  in  my  face,  while 
alive,  for  my  mind  had  been  made  up  not  to  be  taken 
until  dead. 

This  was  a  hint  for  me  to  be  moving,  knowing  that  I 
was  exploring  new  territory, 
u 


162  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Another  twenty-five  feet  brought  me  in  front  of  a 
saloon,  and  here  I  found  an  opening  to  get  under  the 
building,  which  was  built  on  piles  and  stood  about  four 
feet  from  the  ground.  In  the  rear  I  could  see  daylight. 
At  this  my  heart  leaped  with  joy.  The  ground  was 
covered  with  slush  'and  mud  and  there  were  all  kinds 
of  tree-tops,  stumps  and  brush  under  this  building. 

In  hurrying  through  this  brush,  my  watch-chain  caught 
and  tore  loose.  On  it  was  a  charm,  a  $3  gold  piece  with 
my  initials  C.  L.  A.  I  hated  to  lose  this,  so  stopped  to 
consider  as  to  whether  I  should  go  back  to  hunt  it.  While 
studying,  I  wondered  if  I  was  scared.  I  had  to  smile  at 
the  thought,  so  I  concluded  to  test  the  matter  by  spitting; 
but  bless  you,  my  mouth  was  so  dry  I  couldn't  spit  any 
thing  but  cotton,  or  what  looked  like  cotton.  I  decided 
that  it  was  a  case  of  scared  with  a  big  S.  I  had  always 
heard  that  when  a  person  is  badly  frightened  he  can't 
spit;  but  this  was  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  it  tested. 

A  week  or  so  later  I  bought  the  watch-chain  and  charm 
from  a  boy  who  had  found  it  while  the  union  had  "kids" 
searching  for  me  under  these  buildings  on  the  day  of 
the  riot.  When  the  chain  was  found,  I  suppose  they 
figured  that  the  bird  had  flown,  all  but  this  relic  of  his 
breast-feathers. 

On  reaching  the  rear  of  the  saloon,  I  found  plenty  of 
room  to  get  out  in  the  open,  but  before  making  the  break, 
I  examined  my  rifle  and  pistol  to  see  that  they  were  in 
working  order. 

All  ready,  I  sprung  from  under  the  house  and  stood 
once  more  in  (glorious  sunshine.  The  Winchester  was 
up,  ready  for  action.  Only  three  men  were  in  sight  and 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  163 

their  backs  were  towards  me.  They  stood  at  the  cor 
ner  of  the  saloon  building,  looking  up  a  vacant  space  to 
wards  the  main  street.  They  had  evidently  been  placed 
behind  these  buildings  to  watch  for  me,  but  in  their 
eagerness  to  be  at  the  burning,  they  were  watching  the 
crowd  in  the  street,  knowing  that  the  movements  of  the 
mob  would  indicate  when  the  "fatted  calf"  was  ready 
for  the  slaughter.  My  first  impulse  was  to  start  shooting 
and  kill  these  three  men,  but  my  finer  feeling  got  the 
best  of  me.  It  would  be  too  much  like  taking  advantage 
and  committing  cold-blooded  murder. 

I  glanced  straight  south.  There,  in  front  of  me,  about 
fifty  yards  distant,  was  the  high  railroad  grade  which 
shut  off  the  view  from  the  Gem  mill  where  I  knew  my 
friends  awaited  me.  But  to  undertake  to  scale  this  high 
grade  I  would  be  placing  myself  between  two  fires,  for  the 
chances  were,  my  friends  would  take  me  for  an  enemy 
and  start  shooting. 

Quicker  than  a  flash  the  thought  struck  me  to  fool 
these  three  men  and  make  them  think  I  was  going  up 
to  the  top  of  the  grade  to  get  a  shot  at  the  "scabs." 

A  little  to  the  left  there  was  a  swift  stream  of  water 
flowing  through  a  culvert  under  the  railroad  grade,  and 
to  avoid  being  shot  by  my  friends  I  concluded  to  go 
through  this  and  sink  or  swim. 

I  started  in  a  slow  run,  half  stooped  like  a  hunter 
slipping  upon  game,  as  though  intending  to  crawl  up  on 
the  grade  and  get  a  shot  at  the  enemy,  my  course  being 
a  few  feet  to  the  right  of  the  boxed  culvert.  I  didn't 
look  back,  as  I  knew  my  footsteps  would  attract  the 
attention  of  the  three  men,  and  I  didn't  want  them  to  see 


164  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

my  face  or  to  note  that  my  movements  were  suspicious. 
When  within  a  few  feet  of  the  rushing  water,  I  made 
a  quick  turn  to  the  left  and  into  the  culvert.  Just  then 
one  bullet  whizzed  past  my  head.  This  was  the  only  shot 
fired.  It  was  all  I  could  do  to  stem  the  force  of  the 
water,  which  reached  to  my  arm-pits.  The  Winchester 
was  now  in  my  left  hand  while  my  right  extended  for 
ward  holding  on  to  the  upright  timber  on  the  west  wall 
of  the  culvert.  After  I  had  worked  my  way  far  enough 
into  this  culvert  so  that  I  was  in  the  dark  and  out  of  sight 
of  my  enemy,  I  braced  myself  against  an  upright  timber 
and  turned  around  to  look  back.  There  in  plain  view, 
were  three  drunken  Swedes  trying  to  see  me  so  as  to 
get  another  shot.  Now  I  held  the  winning  hand,  and 
raised  my  rifle  to  take  advantage  of  my  opportunity; 
but  my  heart  failed  me  at  the  thought  of  murdering  a 
drunken  Swede,  for  I  had  found  them  to  be  a  hard-work 
ing  lot  of  sheep  who  were  always  ready  to  follow  heart 
less  Irish  leaders.  I  also  thought  of  the  danger  of  shoot 
ing,  as  the  flash  from  my  rifle  would  indicate  my  where 
abouts  and  shots  might  be  fired  in  that  direction.  Al 
though  from  the  way  these  Swedes  or  Finlanders  were 
staggering  around,  I  didn't  think  they  could  shoot  very 
straight.  I  began  to  work  my  way  to  daylight  on  the 
other  side,  a  distance  of  about  fifty  feet.  I  would  reach 
ahead  and  get  hold  of  an  upright  timber  and  then  pull 
myself  forward  against  the  raging  torrent.  I  finally 
emerged  from  the  culvert  and  found  myself  under  a 
Swede's  house,  which  was  built  over  the  opposite  end  of 
this  culvert,  with  the  entrance  to  the  house  fronting  on 
the  railroad  track.  On  walking  from  under  the  house, 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  165 

which  was  built  on  piles,  a  Swede  woman  at  her  back 
door  recognized  me.  She  called  me  by  name  and  asked 
what  I  had  been  doing  under  her  house.  Her  husband 
had  been  one  of  my  best  union  friends.  I  told  her  that 
I  was  just  prowling  around  a  little  for  exercise.  She 
laughed. 

Now  I  had  to  march  across  a  2OO-yard  open  space  to 
reach  the  Gem  mill  and  I  had  to  take  chances  of  being 
shot  at  by  both  sides. 

On  reaching  the  "scab"  forts — high  ricks  of  cordwood 
with  port  holes — I  was  halted  by  a  voice  behind  the 

woodpile  which  said :  "Drop  that  gun  you and  walk 

up  here  with  your  hands  up."  I  replied  that  I  was  a 

friend.  He  answered:  "It  don't  make  a  d d  bit  of 

difference;  if  you  don't  drop  that  gun  your  head  goes 
off."  I  dropped  it,  and  with  both  hands  raised,  I  walked 
up  to  the  port  hole  which  was  made  by  a  stick  of  the  wood 
being  pulled  out.  The  fellow  then  told  me  to  pull  off  my 
hat  so  he  could  see  my  face.  I  did  so,  and  he  said :  "Are 
you  that  detective  who  came  to  our  camp  last  night?" 
I  replied  yes.  Then  he  told  me  to  hurry  and  get  behind 

the  fort  before  the  union took  a  shot  at  me.  It  was 

a  relief  to  get  behind  the  fort  and  shake  hands  with  the 
Thiel  guards  there. 

From  here  I  went  to  the  concentrator,  or  mill,  where 
I  found  Superintendent  John  Monihan  and  a  crowd, 
among  them  being  Fred  Carter,  a  wild  and  woolly  cow 
boy  who  had  been  in  the  Frisco  Mill  blow-up  and  had 
run  the  gauntlet  through  a  shower  of  bullets  to  reach  this 
haven  of  safety.  One  bullet  had  torn  the  heel  off  one 
boot  and  crippled  his  heel,  and  another  knocked  one 


166  A    COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

knuckle  off  his  right  hand.  I  afterwards  saw  the  bullet- 
marks  in  the  railroad  ties  where  this  fellow  ran  along 
the  railroad  track.  No  doubt  50  to  100  shots  had  been 
fired  at  him.  He  was  the  only  man  who  escaped.  The 
others  who  were  not  killed  or  wounded  were  taken 
prisoners. 

This  fellow  Carter,  had  brought  in  bunches  of  "scabs" 
and  I  saw  his  courage  tested  on  several  occasions.  He 
was  not  afraid  of  man  nor  the  devil,  when  he  had  half  a 
chance. 

Shortly  after  my  arrival  at  the  Gem  mine,  a  union  man 
under  a  flag  of  truce,  in  the  shape  of  a  white  rag,  came 
to  tell  Monihan  that  if  he  didn't  surrender  in  a  given 
time  the  Gem  Mill  would  suffer  the  same  fate  as  the 
Frisco  Mill  by  being  blown  up.  Monihan  refused  to 
surrender,  and  the  fellow  went  back. 

Soon  we  could  see  squads  of  men  going  around  over 
the  mountains  back  of  the  mill  towards  the  main  tunnel 
of  the  mine,  up  the  side  of  the  heavily  timbered  mountain, 
from  whence  a  tramway  was  run  to  conduct  the  ore  into 
the  mill.  Monihan  and  I  decided  that  they  intended  to 
capture  the  mine-tunnel  and  then  turn  a  tramway  car 
loaded  with  dynamite  and  a  burning  fuse,  down  the  side 
of  the  mountain  into  the  mill.  This  had  been  done,  so 
Fred  Carter  told  us,  at  the  Frisco  Mill,  but  they  failed 
to  make  the  fuse  long  enough  and  the  charge  went  off 
before  reaching  the  mill,  and  as  to  how  the  Frisco  Mill 
was  finally  blown  up,  was  then  a  mystery  to  Carter. 

In  order  to  offset  a  scheme  of  this  kind,  I  suggested 
to  Monihan  that  I  go  with  some  men  half  way  up  the 
tramway  and  there  tie  some  heavy  poles  across  the  rails 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  167 

in  order  to  ditch  a  car  if  sent  down.  A  couple  of  men 
were  sent  with  me.  On  reaching  the  station  over  the 
mill  I  discovered  that  one  of  the  men  supposed  to  be 
guarding  this  part  of  the  works  was  a  union  spy,  and  I 
so  reported  to  Monihan  later.  Though  I  didn't  know  it 
for  a  fact,  I  felt  confident  of  it.  About  twelve  years 
later  the  fellow  confessed  it  to  me.  His  name  was 
Oscar  W. 

After  tying  the  poles  across  the  track,  we  continued 
on  to  the  tunnel,  being  exposed  to  union  bullets,  as  we 
could  be  seen  from  town. 

At  the  tunnel  I  found  among  our  guards,  a  rank  union 
man  who  had  been  a  shift-boss.  I  knew  this  fellow's 
record  in  the  union.  He  acted  sheepish  as  though  he 
knew  that  I  would  tell  Monihan  of  his  past  record,  which 
I  did. 

Shortly  after  my  return  to  the  mill,  Monihan  received 
orders  through  Ed.  Kinney,  French  and  Campbell's  con 
fidential  secretary,  to  surrender  to  the  union  in  order  to 
save  their  valuable  mill  from  being  blown  up.  Ed.  Kin 
ney  who  had  been  passing  back  and  forth  under  a  flag 
of  truce,  had  received  this  message  over  the  wires. 
Monihan  asked  my  advice.  I  told  him  it  was  a  bad  mis 
take,  as  it  placed  the  lives  of  all  his  men  and  himself  at 
the  mercy  of  a  lot  of  cut-throats.  He  agreed  that  I  was 
right,  but  said  in  the  face  of  his  orders  he  would  have 
to  surrender.  I  told  him  that  I  would  never  surrender 
alive,  and  that  I  would  fight  it  out  alone. 

A  young  man  by  the  name  of  Frank  Stark,  who  had 
come  in  as  a  guard  with  Joe  Warren  and  the  first  batch 
of  non-union  men,  asked  me  if  he  couldn't  stay  with 


168  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

me.  He  said  he  didn't  care  to  risk  his  life  by  surrender 
ing.  As  he  had  an  honest  face  and  seemed  to  be  made 
of  good  material,  I  consented. 

We  then  bade  Monihan  farewell  and  slipped  through 
the  heavy  timber  and  brush  up  a  side  canyon  towards 
the  top  of  the  mountain  to  the  southwest.  We  knew 
that  the  union  had  armed  guards  all  around  us,  as  they 
could  be  seen  moving  to  and  fro.  On  reaching  a  secluded 
spot  on  the  side  of  the  mountain  from  whence  could  be 
seen  Gem  and  the  union  miners,  we  waited  to  see  the 
surrender.  Monihan  and  his  120  to  130  men  marched 
to  the  depot  platform  and  surrendered  their  arms  to  the 
union  officials.  Then  we  could  hear  loud  cheering  by  the 
unionists.  Finally  all  the  prisoners  were  lined  up  in 
rows  and  a  committee  seemed  to  be  examining  them.  I 
afterwards  learned  that  it  was  Dallas  and  his  gang 
searching  for  me ;  that  after  they  had  looked  at  the  face 

of  each  man  Dallas  remarked :  "The must  have  gone 

over  the  hill."  Then  I  heard  men  were  sent  to  guard 
the  approaches  into  Wallace. 

While  sitting  here  resting,  I  realized  for  the  first  time 
that  I  was  hungry,  for  all  I  had  eaten  since  supper  the 
night  before,  was  a  sandwich  and  cup  of  coffee  which 
Mrs.  Shipley  had  put  down  into  the  hole  for  me,  and  it 
was  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  now. 

On  reaching  the  top  of  the  mountain  range,  we  dis 
covered  three  armed  men  standing  in  our  trail,  a  foot 
path  over  the  mountain.  They  were  on  the  summit  of 
the  mountain  and  we  dare  not  go  below  them  to  get  past, 
for  we  could  be  seen.  Here  I  got  my  2  by  4  brain  to 
working  and  soon  studied  up  a  scheme  that  might  work 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  169 

without  having  to  kill  them.  I  laid  my  plan  before  Stark 
and  he  agreed  to  follow  my  instructions,  which  were  as 
follows:  To  crawl  just  as  near  as  possible  to  the  men 
and  then  both  take  aim  at  separate  ones.  Then  I  was  to 
say  in  a  voice  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  them :  "Now 

you  shoot  the on  the  right  and  I'll  kill  the  one  on 

the  left,"  and  then  if  they  raised  their  guns  to  fight,  we 
were  to  shoot  and  fight  it  out  to  a  finish. 

It  worked  like  a  charm,  and  we  could  hear  the  brush 
cracking  where  they  were  falling  and  rolling  down  the 
steep  gulch  to  the  right.  We  laughed  until  our  sides 
hurt. 

That  night,  just  after  dark,  we  reached  the  wagon  road 
half  a  mile  above  Wallace.  It  was  a  relief  to  get  in  a 
smooth  road  after  traveling  so  long  through  brush  and 
fallen  timber.  We  had  traveled  about  ten  miles  the  way 
we  had  come,  and  were  worn  out. 

Just  before  reaching  a  high  rocky  point  on  the  bank 
of  the  river,  a  few  hundred  yards  above  the  depot,  on 
the  edge  of  Wallace,  we  discovered  four  men  with  rifles 
guarding  the  road,  two  being  on  one  side  and  two  on 
the  other,  about  fifty  feet  apart.  No  doubt  these  men  were 
guards  sent  to  watch  for  me.  Now  it  was  a  case  of  going 
miles  around  through  the  hills  or  to  risk  a  fight  with  these 
four  men.  Stark  agreed  to  leave  the  matter  to  my  judg 
ment.  I  decided  to  fight  rather  than  quit  the  road,  but 
I  told  Stark  not  to  shoot  until  I  said  fire.  He  was  to 
take  charge  of  the  two  on  the  left  of  the  road  while  I 
took  care  of  the  other  two.  They  didn't  see  us  until 
we  were  within  fifty  feet  of  them.  We  kept  the  middle 
of  the  road,  I  watching  my  men,  and  Stark  his.  After 


170  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

passing  them  we  kept  watch  over  our  shoulders.  They 
hadn't  spoken  or  moved  until  we  got  passed  them.  Then 
my  two  ran  over  to  the  other  two.  We  were  soon  around 
the  high  rocky  point  in  the  glare  of  the  electric  lights  at 
the  depot.  Here  it  was  as  light  as  day,  and  I  saw  we 
were  in  a  bad  place. 

I  jumped  down  the  bank  and  into  the  swift  stream, 
Stark  following.  The  water  struck  us  about  the  waist 
and  the  stream  was  about  forty  feet  wide.  Reaching  a 
dark  place  in  the  timber  on  the  opposite  bank  we  sat 
down  to  await  results.  But  we  didn't  have  a  minute  to 
wait,  as  the  four  men  came  running  around  thebluff.  When 
they  reached  the  full  electric  lighted  space  to  the  depot 
a  few  hundred  yards  distant,  and  didn't  see  us,  they  were 
puzzled.  It  was  comical  to  see  their  maneuvers.  Their 
actions  showed  that  they  never  suspected  the  truth.  Their 
whole  minds  seemed  to  be  centered  on  the  high  cliff  to 
the  right  of  the  road,  as  though  we  had  hid  in  some  crev 
ice.  They  knew  we  didn't  have  time  to  have  reached  the 
depot,  the  first  building.  In  a  few  minutes  three  of  them 
started  back  to  their  post  while  the  other  ran  as  hard 
as  he  could  to  town.  We  then  hurried  through  the  timber 
to  the  rear  of  the  Carter  Hotel,  which  had  been  the  stop 
ping  place  for  mine  owners.  Stark  was  secreted  in  a 
dark  place  to  shoot  whoever  undertook  to  harm  me. 

I  knocked  on  the  rear  door  and  the  porter  came  out. 
I  asked  who  of  the  mine  owners  were  there.  He  replied 
that  all  the  mine  owners  but  Mr.  Goss  had  "flew  the 
coop"  on  a  special  train,  but  that  Mr.  Monihan  and  Mr. 
Goss  a  millionaire  mine  owner,  from  Wisconsin,  who 
owned  a  big  share  of  the  Morning  mine  at  Mullen,  were 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  171 

upstairs  in  their  rooms.  I  told  him  to  tell  them  that  Alli 
son  wanted  to  see  them  at  the  head  of  the  back  stairs. 
Soon  both  appeared  greatly  excited.  They  begged  me 
to  skip  out  and  get  away  from  the  hotel  as  they  would  be 
murdered  if  I  were  found  there.  They  said  the  union 
men  were  scouring  the  country  for  me.  Here  I  shook 
hands  and  bade  them  goodbye. 

We  then  "sneaked"  into  French  and,  Campbell's  private 
quarters  where  I  knew  Ed.  Kinney  and  young  Harry 
Allen,  the  bookkeeper,  slept.  Both  were  there  and  tickled 
to  see  us,  but  they  feared  the  union  had  guards  watch 
ing  the  place  and  might  have  seen  us  come  in  through 
the  rear  gate.  So  for  that  reason,  we  concluded  not  to 
waste  any  time  telling  funny  stories;  but  we  remained 
long  enough  to  fill  up  on  sardines  and  crackers  and  to 
put  on  dry  underclothes.  Then  we  struck  out  up  a  side 
canyon  towards  the  southwest  for  "tall  timber,"  there  to 
await  future  results. 

Thus  the  first  act  in  the  great  Coeur  D'Alene  miners' 
strike  of  1892  ends. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

UNITED  STATES  TROOPS  FILL  THE  "BULL-PEN"  WITH 
MINERS'  UNION  DYNAMITERS — MY  EVIDENCE  CON 
VICTS  EIGHTEEN  OF  THE  UNION  LEADERS. 

On  reaching  a  place  of  safety  on  the  heavily  timbered 
mountain  side  about  three  miles  from  Wallace,  Stark  and 
I  lay  down  to  sleep  on  the  ground,  using  the  sky  to  cov 
er  us. 

Towards  noon  the  next  day  we  found  the  cabin  of  a 
sourkrout  dutchman  whom  I  knew  as  a  friend  to  the 
mine  owners.  Though  a  member  of  the  union,  he  was 
opposed  to  the  way  the  Miners'  unions  were  conducted; 
therefore  I  concluded  to  risk  entering  his  cabin  in  order 
to  get  something  to  eat.  We  found  the  kind-hearted  fel 
low  at  home  alone,  and  he  was  fearful  lest  the  union  find 
out  that  he  had  fed  us.  He  knew  me  as  secretary  of  the 
Gem  union,  and  had  heard  through  his  Irish  partner  that 
I  had  turned  out  to  be  a  "traitor." 

This  Irishman  partner  was  a  rank  union  man  and  had 
gone  to  take  part  in  the  riot  at  Gem,  and  now  he  was 
expected  back  any  moment,  so  for  that  reason,  we  were 
put  in  a  stone  cabin  nearby  and  given  a  key  so  as  to 
lock  ourselves  in,  while  waiting  for  "Dutchy"  to  cook 
us  something  to  eat. 

Soon  after  the  steaming  coffee  and  food  were  set  be 
fore  us  in  our  hiding  place,  the  dynamiter  partner  re 
turned  with  glowing  accounts  of  the  murdering  of 

172 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  173 

"scabs,"  etc.  He  was  worn  out  from  his  long  siege  and  af 
ter  filling  up,  was  soon  asleep.  Then  our  German  friend 
came  to  tell  us  to  keep  quiet  for  awhile,  as  his  partner 
was  going  back  to  Wallace  when  he  finished  his  nap. 
Stark  and  I  then  took  a  nap  ourselves,  as  we  knew  no  one 
could  get  at  us  without  waking  us  up.  Still,  mine  were 
•:at-naps,  as  I  feared  that  "Dutchy"  and  "Micky"  might 
conspire  to  blow  us  into  kingdom-come  with  giant 
powder,  or  else  warn  the  union  of  our  presence  there. 

Late  in  the  evening  "Micky"  went  back  to  Wallace  to 
help  uphold  the  principles  of  his  noble  union,  and  then 
Stark  and  I  with  a  supply  of  grub  and  an  old  coffee  pot, 
struck  out  again  for  "tall  timber." 

This  time  we  climbed  the  mountain  side  for  a  mile, 
east.  Here  in  a  secluded  spot  in  the  heavy  timber  and 
underbrush,  we  built  an  Indian  "wickiup"  to  shelter  us 
from  the  rain  which  was  falling,  and  that  night  we  slept 
the  sleep  of  the  just. 

Next  morning  we  tramped  north  nearly  to  the  edge  of 
Wallace,  secreting  ourselves  on  the  top  of  a  round  moun 
tain  overlooking  the  town.  Here  we  had  a  free  show 
which  couldn't  be  beat  for  money.  It  was  grand,  viewed 
from  a  distance;  especially  one  of  the  last  acts  wherein 
a  tall  lanky  pilgrim  was  the  "fall  guy,"  though  he  didn't 
take  time  to  fall.  He  just  hit  the  high  places,  twenty  feet 
to  the  jump. 

It  was  the  unions'  grand  day  of  reckoning  with  all 
"scabs,"  and  business  men  who  had  opposed  union  prin 
ciples  in  the  past.  They  were  gathered  up  in  small  droves 
and  taken  to  the  railroad  yards  and  there  told  to  "hit  the 
road"  for  Spokane,  Wash.,  about  seventy-five  miles  dk- 


174  A    COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

tant ;  and  to  give  them  a  good  start,  the  union  men  would 
fire  over  their  heads.  In  running,  some  would  fall  and 
turn  somersaults,  but  not  so  with  the  lanky  individual 
with  the  stove-pipe  hat  and  valise.  At  the  first  mile-post 
this  tall  man  was  leading  the  herd  by  at  least  200  yards, 
and  besides,  he  was  handicapped  with  a  big  valise. 

At  the  funny  things  which  happened  during  the  day, 
Stark  and  I  split  our  sides  laughing. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  union  men  captured  a  rail 
road  train,  and  in  a  body,  went  to  bury  their  dead. 

Some  union  Knights  of  Pythias  wanted  to  bury  Ivory 
Bean,  the  man  whom  I  saw  shot  through  the  heart,  un 
der  the  rules  of  the  order,  but  the  union  wouldn't  allow 
it.  He  had  to  be  buried  as  a  "scab,"  so  far  as  the  unions 
were  concerned.  This  we  heard  later. 

That  night  Stark  and  I  slept  in  our  "wickiup"  again. 

Next  morning  we  returned  to  our  lookout  mountain, 
and  late  in  the  evening  saw  train-loads  of  United  States 
soldiers  and  State  militia  arrive  from  the  State  of  Wash 
ington.  It  was  indeed  a  grand  sight  to  me,  and  for  the 
first  time  in  my  life  did  I  realize  the  value  of  our  troops. 

When  the  large  American  flag  was  planted  near  the 
Carter  hotel  my  heart  broke  loose  from  its  mooring, 
where  it  had  been  hitched  under  the  Confederate  flag  of 
my  babyhood.  Stark  and  I  gave  three  cheers  for  the 
Star  Spangled  Banner  of  our  united  country,  and  deep 
down  in  my  heart  I  made  a  vow  to  die  and  bleed,  if  nec 
essary,  to  uphold  the  honor  of  this  flag. 

Throwing  a  kiss  of  farewell  back  at  our  "wickiup"  and 
coffee  pot,  we  started  on  a  run  down  the  mountain-side 
for  the  Carter  hotel.  Arriving  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  175 

of  the  hotel  and  soldiers'  camp,  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
heavy  timber,  I  concluded  to  do  a  little  detective  work  at 
the  home  of  French  Pete,  a  rank  union  man  who  had 
built  a  fine  home  on  the  hill,  south  of  the  Carter  hotel. 
Pete  had  married  an  Irish  mother-in-law,  and  it  was  on 
this  old  Irish  woman  that  I  got  in  my  fine  work. 

I  had  cached  Stark,  with  his  rifle  across  a  log,  ready 
to  shoot,  while  I  went  to  French  Pete's  home  to  learn  the 
news  and  to  get  all  the  information  possible  about  union 
matters.  The  Irish  mother-in-law  and  her  young  son-in- 
law  greeted  me  in  the  yard.  I  gave  an  assumed  name, 
and  wondered  what  we  Miners'  union  men  would  do  now 
that  the  dirty  cut-throat  soldiers  had  arrived.  I  won  the 
old  lady's  heart,  and  she  slobbered  over  me  as  a  poor  tired 
union  miner  who  had  fought  a  noble  cause. 

I  asked  if  there  was  any  danger  of  President  O'Brien 
and  the  officers  of  the  Central  union  being  arrested  by  the 
soldiers.  She  replied  no,  that  they  would  never  find 
them  as  they  were  hiding  in  her  (Mrs.  Hollihan's)  cellar 
down  town.  Here  the  old  lady  went  into  the  house  and 
got  the  late  daily  Spokane  Review,  and  Spokesman,  for 
me.  I  then  went  out  to  my  supposed  union  friend  be 
hind  the  log  and  she  and  her  son-in-law  followed.  There 
I  read  the  big  head-lines  aloud.  They  told  of  the  riot 
and  the  blowing  up  of  the  Frisco  mill  and  the  killing  of 
"scabs"  and  the  capture  of  John  Monihan  and  his  130  or 
more  armed  men,  and  how  the  next  day  they  were 
marched  in  a  body  to  the  Wallace  bank  to  draw  their 
wages  and  savings,  and  then  with  all  their  cash,  they  were 
taken  on  a  train  to  the  head  of  the  Coeur  D'Alene  lake  at 
which  point  they  had  to  board  a  steamer  for  the  other 


176  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

side  of  the  lake;  and  that  while  waiting  for  the  steamer 
at  the  Mission  about  dusk,  they  were  fired  into  by  the 
union  men  and  many  shot  and  robbed  of  their  money; 
John  Monihan  being  among  the  missing ;  also  that  a  train- 
load  of  United  States  troops  had  been  sent  on  the  first 
day  of  the  riot  from  Missoula,  Mont.,  but  that  the  union 
men  of  Butte  City  and  the  Coeur  D'Alene  blew  up  the 
bridges  so  they  couldn't  get  through;  so  that  they  had 
to  go  around  through  Oregon  and  Washington. 

Of  course  we  all  cheered  at  this  good  news  against 
"scabs."  Then  Stark  and  I  bade  our  friends  goodby,  and 
started  ostensibly  for  Placer  Creek  where  the  Dutchman 
and  his  Irish  partner  lived. 

On  getting  out  of  sight  in  the  heavy  timber,  we  lay 
down  and  watched  Mrs.  Hollihan  who  had  just  come  up 
to  visit  her  daughter,  French  Pete's  wife.  In  a  few 
moments  she  came  out  of  the  house  and  with  an  old- 
country  stride  of  four  feet  to  the  stretch,  she  hurried 
down  to  her  own  home,  and  on  arriving  there,  as  I 
learned  afterwards,  she  told  her  guests,  the  union  leaders, 
that  she  had  just  met  two  poor  union  men  who  looked 
tired  and  worn  out.  She  was  asked  to  describe  these  two 
men,  which  she  did.  On  describing  me  as  being  pitted 
with  smallpox,  President  O'Brien  spoke  up  and  said: 

"Why,  that's  that detective  Allison  that  we  have 

been  scouring  the  hills  to  find,"  or  words  to  that  effect. 

Then  a  runner  was  sent  down  town  to  gather  a  crowd 
of  union  men  to  go  on  our  trail  and  head  us  off  and  cap 
ture  us.  A  large  crowd  was  sent  up  the  creek  on  the  run, 
to  scour  the  woods  back  to  the  point  where  the  old  lady 
had  seen  us.  This  crowd  running  up  the  creek  armed, 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  177 

created  an  excitement,  and  some  one  friendly  to  the  mine 
owners,  learned  that  they  were  after  me.  Then  General 
Carlin,  commander  of  the  United  States  troops,  was  no 
tified  and  he  sent  a  detail  of  twenty-five  soldiers  on  the 
double-quick  up  the  creek  to  rescue  us.  The  soldiers 
were  given  a  good  description  of  Yours  Truly. 

It  was  just  dusk  when  Stark  and  I  presented  ourselves 
to  General  Carlin  in  the  Carter  hotel.  When  he  heard 
my  name  he  said :  "Why,-  you  are  the  man  we  sent  out 
twenty-five  soldiers  half  an  hour  ago  to  rescue.  Of 
course  this  was  news  to  me,  though  next  day  I  learned 
the  whole  truth  of  the  affair,  as  outlined  above.  Then 
General  Carlin  sent  runners  out  to  bring  in  the  soldiers, 
as  the  lost  had  been  found.  It  was  late  when  the  last 
ones  returned.  They  reported  seeing  many  armed  men 
whom  they  couldn't  capture  owing  to  the  heavy  brush. 

I  told  of  President  O'Brien  being  hid  at  Mrs.  Holli- 
han's  house,  and  a  squad  of  soldiers  were  sent  to  sur 
round  the  place,  with  the  result  that  President  O'Brien, 
Joe  Poynton  and  others  of  the  union  leaders  were  cap 
tured.  But  Dallas  was  not  among  the  prisoners,  who 
were  fixing  to  change  their  hiding  place  when  the  sol 
diers  got  there.  He  had  no  doubt  gone  with  the  crowd  to 
capture  me,  and  thus  saved  his  bacon,  as  he  was  never 
caught. 

Stark  and  I  slept  soundly  that  night  in  the  Carter  hotel, 
with  the  glorious  American  flag  waving  over  our  heads, 
and  a  thousand  bayonets  to  insure  our  safety. 

Next  day  Dr.  Simms  was  made  marshal  of  the  whole 
Coeur  D'Alene  district,  under  military  rule,  the  district 
having  been  put  under  marshal  law ;  and  I  was  made  one 
of  his  chief  deputies. 
u 


178  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

As  I  knew  all  the  agitators  and  union  leaders,  I  was 
kept  busy  for  the  next  week  or  so  putting  unruly  cattle  in 
the  "bull  pen,"  a  large  stockade  with  a  frame  building  in 
the  center,  for  them  to  sleep  and  eat  in. 

We  scoured  the  country  to  the  Montana  line.  General 
Carlin  refused  to  follow  them  over  the  line,  out  of  Idaho. 
In  less  than  a  week  we  had  300  "bulls"  in  the  corral.  A 
word  from  me  would  liberate  any  of  them  and  many  were 
let  go,  as  I  knew  the  bad  ones.  Instead  of  burning  me 
at  a  stake,  they  were  now  begging  me  for  mercy,  that  is, 
a  great  many  of  them. 

My  friend,  Geo.  A.  Pettibone,  was  not  captured  for  a 
few  days.  He  was  hid  up  in  the  mountains  wounded  by 
being  struck  with  a  boomerang.  He  had  touched  off  the 
fuse  that  blew  up  the  Frisco  mill,  causing  the  death  and 
maiming  of  many  men. 

After  they  had  sent  a  car  of  giant  powder  down  the 
mountain  and  it  blew  up  before  reaching  the  mill,  they 
tried  a  new  scheme.  High  up  on  the  mountain-side  there 
was  a  large  wooden  flume  and  from  this  to  the  water- 
wheel  in  the  mill,  there  was  a  large  iron  pipe  called  a  pen 
stock,  to  conduct  water  to  run  the  mill  machinery.  As 
the  mill  was  not  then  running,  there  was  no  water  in  the 
penstock.  In  order  to  reach  the  upper  end  of  this  pen 
stock,  the  water  was  let  out  of  the  large  wooden  flume, 
and  along  its  bottom,  Geo.  A.  Pettibone  and  his  gang  of 
three  or  four  men  walked.  Then  bundles  of  giant  powder 
were  dropped  into  the  penstock  and  found  lodgment  at  the 
bottom,  inside  the  mill.  When  they  thought  enough  had 
been  sent  down,  Pettibone  touched  a  match  to  a  fuse  at 
tached  to  the  last  bundle.  He  made  the  fuse  long  enough 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  179 

so  that  it  wouldn't  go  off  till  it  reached  the  bottom  among 
the  other  bundles. 

Now,  Judge  Geo.  A.  Pettibone,  the  learned  justice  of 
the  peace,  of  Gem,  had  a  fine  head  for  dishing  out  union 
justice  and  for  crawling  up  a  hollo'.v  tree  of  small  caliber, 
but  not  for  scenting  a  boomerang.  He  remained  in  the 
flume  with  his  ear  at  the  mouth  of  the  penstock  so  as  to 
hear  the  joyful  sound  of  the  explosion  when  it  should 
take  place. 

Pettibone  went  up  in  the  treetops  and  his  companion 
picked  him  up  outside  of  the  flume,  where  he  came  down 
with  a  shattered  hand  and  other  injuries.  He  hadn't 
studied  concussion  in  his  school  books.  If  he  had,  he 
would  have  known  that  the  shock  of  the  explosion  would 
come  back  up  the  penstock. 

In  this  explosion  at  the  Frisco  mill,  many  lives  were 
saved  from  the  fact  that  most  of  the  seventy-five  or  more 
guards  and  non-union  miners  were  at  the  further  side  of 
the  mill  building,  shooting  at  union  men  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  mountain,  from  where  Pettibone  and  his  small 
gang  were  doing  their  work. 

In  rounding  up  these  unruly  cattle  with  squads  of  sol 
diers,  I  had  some  narrow  escapes.  Once  in  Burk  it  looked 
scary  for  me,  as  I  only  had  a  few  soldiers  and  the  miners 
were  very  angry  at  me.  All  they  lacked  was  a  leader  to 
make  a  break  for  my  scalp. 

To  show  how  I  was  hated  by  the  miners  in  the  bull-pen, 
I  will  quote  the  headlines  from  the  "Barbarian"  news 
paper  : 

"Allison  went  into  the  bull-pen  and  a  rush  was  made 
for  him.  He  had  to  draw  his  pistol.  His  presence  in 


180  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

their  midst  had  the  same  effect  as  a  red  flag  on  angry 
bulls." 

I  made  one  trip  with  a  train  load  of  soldiers  with  Gen 
eral  Carlin  in  active  command,  to  the  line  of  Montana, 
where  Jack  Lucy,  "Long  Shorty"  and  a  large  gang  of 
dynamiters  had  a  fort  built  on  top  of  a  mountain.  From 
the  train  to  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  Lieutenant  Page  had 
charge.  After  marching  about  a  mile  it  was  found  im 
possible  to  reach  the  enemy's  fort  in  a  body,  owing  to 
brush  and  fallen  timber.  Therefore,  we  had  to  return 
empty-handed.  But  on  the  trip  I  learned  a  lesson  in  mili 
tary  training.  Funny  things  happened,  which  would  have 
made  a  stone  idol  grin,  but  not  so  with  General  Carlin. 
He  would  never  crack  a  smile.  On  making  inquiry,  I 
found  that  at  the  military  schools  he  had  learned  to  set 
the  brakes  on  his  mouth,  at  will. 

In  Gem,  Capt.  J.  W.  Bubb  had  charge  of  a  company  of 
United  States  troops,  and  I  did  much  of  my  work  through 
him.  He  would  furnish  me  a  squad  of  soldiers  whenever 
I  asked  for  them. 

In  my  dealings  with  soldiers  I  found  out  the  difference 
between  "raw  recruits"  and  "seasoned  veterans."  In  go 
ing  through  old  tunnels  and  caves,  searching  for  dyna 
miters,  the  boys  in  the  state  militia  would  squat  and  often 
jump  at  the  least  noise,  while,  if  I  said  the  word,  half  a 
dozen  United  States  soldiers  would  march  right  into  a 
dark  place  where  dozens  of  the  enemy  were  supposed  to 
be  hidden.  I  would  be  right  behind  them  and  could  note 
their  maneuvers.  A  dozen  bats  or  "bloody  howls"  could 
fly  past  their  heads  and  they  would  never  change  their 
course  or  alter  their  steps. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  181 

On  my  first  visit  to  Gem,  after  the  soldiers  came  in,  it 
was  comical  to  see  the  surprise  of  Mrs.  Shipley's  little 
boy.  He  almost  had  a  "duck  fit"  on  seeing  me.  He  sup 
posed  I  was  still  down  in  that  hole  under  the  floor,  and 
his  mother  said  that  he  couldn't  eat  a  meal  without  sav 
ing  some  for  Mr.  Allison.  This  he  would  drop  down  in 
to  the  hole.  Bless  his  little  baby  heart,  wherever  he  might 
be.  I  have  lost  track  of  him  and  his  mother,  but  I  want 
them  to  know  that  my  last  crust  of  bread  or  dollar  is 
theirs  for  the  asking,  should  they  ever  be  in  need. 

Of  course,  after  marshal-law  was  declared,  the  mine 
owners  and  deported  business  men  came  back. 

Joe  McDonald,  a  brave  man  and  a  fighter,  took  charge 
of  the  Frisco  mine. 

After  the  soldiers  came,  John  Monihan  also  returned. 
He  told  of  his  narrow  escape  at  the  Mission  while  wait 
ing  for  the  steamer  to  take  them  to  Coeur  D'Alene  City. 
He  said  they  were  all  sitting  around  on  the  grass,  about 
250  of  them,  under  the  guard  of  a  few  union  men,  when 
just  about  dusk  a  squad  of  union  dynamiters,  under  the 
leadership  of  Bill  Black,  who  was  later  shot  and  sent  to 
the  penitentiary,  came  swooping  down  on  the  defenseless 
men  shooting  and  robbing  them  right  and  left.  The  mur 
derers  were  on  horseback.  John  Monihan  and  Percy 
Summers  jumped  into  the  water  and  swam  to  an  island, 
thus  saving  themselves. 

At  the  point  where  the  shooting  took  place,  the  river 
is  very  deep,  and  after  dark  a  wounded  man,  Abbott,  who 
was  hidden  in  the  tall  grass  said  he  saw  the  union  men 
rob  several  dead  bodies  and  then  cut  open  their  stomachs, 
so  they  would  sink,  and  dump  them  into  the  river. 


182  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

After  the  count,  fourteen  "scabs"  were  missing  and 
some  of  them  have  never  turned  up  to  this  day,  and  the 
supposition  is  that  they  were  the  ones  sunk  in  the  river. 

Most  of  the  "scabs,"  who  gave  up  their  money  without 
protest,  were  liberated.  Some  had  a  year's  savings  in 
their  pockets,  as  many  had  been  working  for  a  long  time 
under  union  rules,  but  had  turned  to  be  "scabs"  after  the 
strike. 

Many  times  I  visited  the  States'  hospital  in  Wallace 
and  talked  with  the  non-union  men  wounded  in  Gem,  and 
in  the  Fourth-of-July  canyon  on  the  lake.  To  see  some 
of  these  poor  fellows  shot  through  the  body,  and  others 
with  their  heads  split  open,  would  melt  the  heart  of  a 
stone  man,  and  make  him  resolve  to  fight  this  kind  of 
unionism  to  the  last  ditch. 

One  poor  fellow  seventy-five  years  old,  lay  with  his 
head  cracked  open  and  his  face  and  body  pounded  to  a 
jelly,  and  this  was  done  after  he  had  surrendered,  when 
the  Frisco  mill  was  blown  up.  And  other  men  served  in 
the  same  manner  lay  by  his  side,  almost  at  the  point  of 
death. 

This  dastardly  work  was  done  under  the  leadership  of 
Paddy  Burke  and  Dan  Connor,  two  of  my  brothers  of  the 
Gem  union.  All  honor  to  the  Irishman  who  had  the  man 
hood  to  stop  these  cut-throats  and  give  orders  that  no 
more  prisoners  be  ill-used,  at  the  risk  of  their  own  lives. 
This  Irishman  was  Peter  Breen,  a  leader  of  the  Butte 
City  (Mont.)  union,  who  had  come  over  to  help  in  the 
riots.  I  afterwards  saw  him  sulking  in  the  Wallace  jail, 
and  I  felt  like  giving  him  my  hand  for  his  noble  act,  even 
though  he  had  himself  trampled  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States  under  his  big  brogans. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  183 

The  old  man  referred  to  above,  told  me  how  he  had 
come  from  California  to  work  in  the  Frisco  mine  to  save 
his  little  home  from  being  sold  under  mortgage,  over  his 
old  wife's  head,  and  tears  streamed  down  his  bruised  face 
as  he  told  it.  Furthermore,  he  was  an  American-bred  citi 
zen,  while  the  men  who  beat  him  up  were  every  one  for 
eigners  of  the  lowest  order. 

Finally,  I  had  to  go  on  a  stage  cpp.ch  to  Murray,  the 
county  seat  of  Shoshone  county,  Idaho,  this  being  the 
county  in  which  the  Coeur  D'Alene  mining  district  is  situ 
ated,  to  appear  before  the  grand  jury  against  union  riot 
ers. 

Murray  is  an  old  gold  camp  across  a  range  of  moun 
tains,  and  is  made  up  of  a  good  class  of  American  citi 
zens,  many  of  them  being  old  Grand  Army  men.  So,  for 
that  reason  the  grand  jury  brought  in  many  indictments. 
Charlie  O'Neal  was  the  prosecuting  attorney  for  the 
county,  and  he  worked  faithfully  to  get  indictments, 
though  he  said  he  knew  it  would  be  utterly  impossible  to 
convict  a  union  man  in  the  local  courts,  and  he  was  right, 
for  the  strongest  case  was  tried  first,  as  a  test.  It  was 
against  Webb  Leasier,  the  man  who  was  seen  to  fire  the 
bullet  through  Ivory  Bean's  heart.  O'Neal  had  witnesses 
who  saw  Leasier  fire  the  shot,  and  still  he  failed  to  con 
vict. 

While  in  Murray,  and  before  I  had  appeared  before  the 
grand  jury,  the  deputy  sheriff  in  charge  at  that  point  un 
der  Dr.  Simms,  told  me  after  supper  one  night,  that  he 
and  his  guards  could  not  be  responsible  for  my  safety,  as 
there  was  a  well-laid  plan  to  kidnap  me  by  force.  He  said 
he  had  just  got  a  tip  from  a  reliable  party  who  had  seen 


184  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

a  large  crowd  of  union  outlaws  up  the  creek  several 
miles,  and  from  this  gang  of  union  men,  about  300,  the 
informant  found  out  their  intention  of  capturing  the  town 
of  Murray  in  order  to  get  me.  This  deputy  appeared  to 
be  very  nervous  over  the  matter,  and  he  hired  several  ex 
tra  men  to  do  guard  duty,  but  said  he  had  no  hope  of 
standing  off  a  large  gang  of  desperate  men.  He  advised 
me  to  look  out  for  myself  and  not  depend  on  him. 

There  were  no  soldiers  in  Murray,  <and  the  town  was 
filled  with  union  men  to  act  as  witnesses  for  their  side; 
therefore  I  felt  a  little  shaky.  Still,  I  figured  that  possi 
bly  it  was  a  bluff  to  frighten  me  so  I  wouldn't  remain  to 
testify  before  the  grand  jury. 

That  night  and  every  night  following,  until  all  my  evi 
dence  was  in  the  hands  of  the  grand  jury,  I  stayed  awake 
and  sat  up  on  the  mountain  side  overlooking  the  town, 
with  my  Winchester  rifle  ready  for  action.  I  would  pretend 
to  retire  to  my  room  for  the  night,  not  telling  a  soul  of 
my  intentions ;  then  I  would  slip  down  the  back  stairs  and 
up  the  mountain  side.  Next  morning  I  would  return  to 
the  hotel  at  daylight  and  slip  into  my  room. 

After  I  had  testified  before  the  grand  jury,  I  was  told 
that  Dallas  and  his  gang  were  laying  for  me  on  the  road 
to  capture  me  when  I  returned  on  the  stage  to  Wallace. 
No  doubt  there  was  truth  in  this  report,  for  the  stage 
drivers  told  of  men  stopping  the  stage  as  though  to  see 
who  were  aboard.  Each  side  of  the  road  was  covered 
with  a  dense  growth  of  timber  and  underbrush,  so  that  it 
would  have  been  an  easy  matter  to  capture  the  stage  at  a 
given  signal  that  I  was  a  passenger.  But  I  fooled  them 
by  hiring  a  saddle-horse  to  take  a  little  exercise  one  even- 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  185 

ing,  and  that  night  I  "hit  the  road"  for  Wallace  on  horse 
back,  a  distance  of  about  twenty  miles. 

Finally  I  was  called  to  Coeur  D'Alene  City,  Idaho,  to 
testify  in  Judge  Jas.  H.  Beatty's  United  States  court 
against  leaders  of  the  Miners'  union. 

Before  leaving  Gem,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  my 
little  daughter,  Viola,  though  no  one  was  to  know  that 
she  was  my  child. 

Mr.  Will  F.  Read  had  sold  his  home  in  Anna,  111.,  and 
come  out  to  Gem  for  his  wife's  health,  on  the  strength  of 
my  advice.  He  then  bought  out  Mrs.  Shipley's  interest 
in  our  store  and  became  my  partner.  I  agreed  to  give  him 
half  the  profits  from  the  rent  of  the  twelve  furnished 
rooms,  which  were  now  all  occupied  with  non-union  men, 
and  a  barber  shop  adjoining  the  store,  for  his  trouble  in 
running  the  place.  Therefore,  on  leaving,  I  turned  over 
to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Read  all  my  rights  in  Gem,  including 
the  good-will  interest  in  Miss  Gertrude  Hull,  a  pretty 
young  lady  whom  I  rounded  up  in  Spokane  to  clerk  in 
our  store.  I  had  gone  to  Spokane  City  on  this  special 
round-up,  and  of  [course  I  roped  in  the  prettiest  girl  I 
could  find. 

For  the  next  few  months  my  name  was  in  the  papers  a 
good  deal,  as  I  was  the  star-witness  against  the  leaders 
of  the  miners'  union.  Many  people  came  to  Coeur 
d'Alene  City  especially  to  hear  my  evidence. 

The  United  States'  prosecuting  attorney  was  Freemont 
Wood,  and  a  Mr.  F.  B.  Crossthwaite  from  the  Depart 
ment  of  Justice  in  Washington,  D.  C,  assisted. 

The  Mine  Owners'  Association  employed  Attorney 
Hagen  and  W.  B.  Heyburn,  now  a  United  States  senator 
from  Idaho,  to  assist  in  the  prosecutions. 


186  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

We  also  tried  a  batch  of  the  dynamite  leaders  in  Boise 
City,  the  capital  of  Idaho,  in  Judge  Beatty's  court  there. 

During  these  trials  I  had  to  keep  wide  awake,  as  it  was 
known  that  the  miners'  union  had  turned  me  over  to  the 
Irish  "Clan-na-gaels"  to  be  killed,  so  that  my  evidence 
would  not  be  used  against  President  O'Brien  and  the 
other  leaders. 

In  Boise  City  I  received  a  "tip"  that  Kelly  and  four 
"Clan-na-gael"  members  of  the  Butte  City,  Montana 
union,  who  it  was  said  had  charge  of  assassinating  Editor 
Penrose  for  opposing  their  union,  a  short  time  previous, 
would  come  to  get  me  out  of  the  way.  The  "tip"  came 
from  a  man  on  the  inside.  Kelly  and  his  four  companions 
came  to  Boise  by  the  time  court  opened,  but  they  were 
pointed  out  to  me,  and  their  usefulness  to  the  dynamite 
society  was  spoiled. 

The  Butte  City,  Montana,  and  Coeur  d'Alene  unions  had 
employed  one-armed  Pat  Reddy  from  California  and  Ne 
vada,  to  protect  their  side.  He  was  a  noted  criminal  law 
yer,  and  he  and  I  had  some  hot  tilts  while  I  was  on  the 
witness  stand,  both  at  Coeur  d'Alene  City  and  at  Boise, 
The  "Barbarian"  newspaper  and  others,  came  out  with 
big  headlines  of  how  Siringo- Allison  paralyzed  Reddy  and 
had  him  fighting  mad.  In  Boise,  Reddy  frothed  at  the 
mouth  and  shook  his  fist  in  my  face,  but  I  only  smiled. 
Judge  Beatty  upheld  me.  Attorney  James  Hawley,  of 
Boise,  a  nice  fellow,  was  employed  to  assist  Reddy.  The 
unions  also  had  two  other  lawyers  of  smaller  caliber. 

We  succeeded  in  convicting  eighteen  union  leaders, 
among  them  being  my  friend,  Judge  Geo.  A.  Pettibone, 
who  had  recovered  from  his  fly  up  in  the  tree-tops  at  the 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  187 

Frisco  mill  explosion.  He  received  a  sentence  of  two 
years  in  the  United  States  prison  at  Detroit,  Mich. 

I  was  really  sorry  for  the  "honorable  president"  of  the 
Coeur  d'Alene  Central  Union,  Mr.  O'Brien.  He  was  not 
a  bad  man  at  heart,  but  his  head  had  gone  wrong  through 
taking  the  advice  of  such  men  as  Joe  Poynton  and 
"Judge"  Pettibone. 

I  shall  never  believe  that  nature  intended  Mr. 
O'Brien  to  wear  prison  stripes,  but  every  one  of  the  other 
seventeen,  with  the  exception  of  Dan  Harrington,  de 
served  hanging,  among  them  being  an  ex-prize  fighter, 
Tom  Whalen,  who  did  a  noble  deed  when  he  shot  Bill 
Black  through  the  body  in  a  drunken  brawl.  Had  he 
killed  Black,  who  led  the  charge  in  the  Fourth-of-July 
canyon  on  Monihan  and  his  helpless  victims,  several  lives 
would  have  been  saved. 

Thomas  Eaton,  old  man  Mike  Divine,  "Spud"  Murphy, 
C.  Sinclair,  Joe  Poynton,  Tom  Whalen  and  John  Nichol 
son,  were  among  those  convicted  as  leaders  of  the  miners' 
union. 

The  peculiar  twist  in  the  names  of  all  these  convicted 
men  would  indicate  that  they  were  not  Swedes,  Chinamen 
or  Scandinavians. 

It  was  late  in  the  fall  when  in  Wallace,  Idaho,  I  closed 
the  operation  and  started  back  to  Denver.  I  had  been  on 
the  operation  a  year  and  two  months. 

I  hated  to  part  with  my  companion,  Frank  Stark,  as  we 
had  become  warm  friends ;  but  soon  after  my  departure 
he  lost  one  of  his  legs  above  the  knee  from  a  rifle  bullet. 
It  was  done  in  my  building  at  Gem  where  he  was  rooming, 
and  the  rifle  was  fired  accidentally  by  Johnny  Kneebone, 


188  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

the  "scab"  blacksmith,  afterwards  murdered  by  the  min 
ers'  union,  several  members  of  the  union  going  to  his 
blacksmith  shop  at  the  Gem  mine  in  broad  daylight  and 
shooting  him  full  of  holes. 

After  losing  his  leg,  Stark  went  to  his  old  home  in 
Pennsylvania  and  learned  to  be  an  engineer.  Since  then  I 
have  lost  track  of  him,  though  I  hope  he  is  alive  and  doing 
well ;  for  he  is  a  prince  and  there  is  not  a  cowardly  drop 
of  blood  in  his  veins. 

I  arrived  in  Denver  and  discontinued  the  Coeur  d'Alene 
operation  just  before  Christmas.  Superintendent  McCart 
ney  was  glad  to  see  me  back  alive,  after  the  strenuous 
life  I  had  been  leading. 

On  several  occasions  in  the  Coeur  d'Alene  I  had  saved 
my  life  by  being  handy  with  the  pistol  and  getting  the 
drop.  I  always  avoided  taking  life,  though  I  had  the  law  on 
my  side.  I  had  a  chance  once  in  Coeur  d'Alene  City  during 
the  trial  there,  to  kill  a  bad  dynamiter  right  before  the 
eyes  of  Prosecuting  Attorney  Wood,  and  be  upheld  by  the 
law.  Also  another  time  on  a  crowded  train  between  Gem 
and  Wallace,  when  Mr.  "Mace"  Campbell  and  other  mine 
owners  were  present.  Some  of  the  tough  union  men  had 
raised  a  "racket"  with  me.  I  made  them  sit  down  and 
kept  them  covered  with  my  gun  till  we  arrived  in  Wallace. 
Then  I  had  Sheriff  Simms  throw  the  leader,  a  big  Irishx 
man,  in  jail  for  threatening  to  kill  me. 

On  reaching  Denver  I  started  out  to  have  a  good  time 
by  spending  my  money  freely.  I  figured  that  I  could 
afford  it,  as  outside  of  my  weekly  salary,  I  was  drawing 
$135.00  per  month  from  the  rent  of  my  Gem,  Idaho,  build 
ing  and  furnished  rooms,  besides  a  good  profit  from  my 
half  of  the  store. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  189 

But  with  me,  good  things  don't  last  long,  for  one  morn 
ing  early  in  January,  1893,  Miss  Mollie  Rucker,  our  cash 
ier,  handed  me  a  telegram  from  Mrs.  Will  F.  Read  in 
Gem,  which  stated  that  my  building  and  store  had  burnt 
to  the  ground  and  that  her  husband  was  in  jail  for  shoot 
ing  the  union  dynamiter  merchant,  Samuels.  Thus  my 
$3,000.00  had  taken  wings  and  flown  up  in  smoke,  and  my 
extra  income  was  cut  off.  I  had  had  $1,500.00  worth  of 
insurance  on  the  building,  but  a  few  weeks  before  the 
fire,  $1,000.00  of  it  was  canceled  owing  to  a  fear  that 
the  union  would  set  the  town  afire.  The  $500.00  of  in 
surance  money  was  used  to  pay  some  debts  in  Idaho  and 
to  assist  the  Reads  who  later  joined  me  in  Denver. 

While  the  fire  was  raging  on  our  side  of  the  street,  Will 
Read  had  carried  his  wife's  trunk  containing  her  keep 
sakes  across  the  street  and  put  it  upon  Samuels'  store 
porch  where  it  would  be  safe  from  the  fire.  Then  Samuels 
gave  the  trunk  a  kick  out  into  the  street,  as  Read  was  not 
liked  by  the  union  men  on  account  of  his  friendship  for 
me.  Read  at  once  went  back  into  the  burning  building 
and  got  his  double-barrel  shotgun  loaded  with  buckshot, 
and  "winged"  dynamiter  Samuels  by  shooting  his  right 
arm  off  at  the  shoulder;  but  before  doing  so,  Samuels 
fired  a  couple  of  shots  at  Read  with  a  pistol,  after  Read 
had  knocked  him  through  his  own  glass-front  store,  shat 
tering  the  plate  glass. 

Barrels  of  whisky  had  been  rolled  out  of  the  burning 
saloons,  which  lay  between  the  Union  Hall,  where  the 
fire  started  and  my  place,  and  the  union  mob  were  all 
drunk  on  free  liquor. 

After  the  shooting  Read  was  knocked  down  and  the 


190  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

"scab"  Deputy  Sheriff  Frank  Rose  secured  Read's  gun. 
The  drunken  dynamiters  seeing  their  brother  with  his  arm 
shattered  to  threads  and  Rose  with  the  smoking  gun  in 
his  hand,  supposed  he  did  the  job.  Poor  Rose  tried  to  ex 
plain  matters,  but  he  was  a  "scab"  and  they  wouldn't  lis 
ten  to  his  pleadings.  While  they  were  fixing  to  hang  him, 
the  truth  was  explained  that  Allison's  partner  shot  poor 
Samuels.  Then  Rose  was  liberated  and  the  mob  started 
after  Read,  who  by  that  time,  was  half  way  to  Wallace. 

Arriving  in  Wallace  about  5  130  a.  m.  Read  surrendered 
to  Sheriff  Simms  who  took  him  down  to  the  jail  as  a  mat 
ter  of  duty,  but  forgot  and  left  the  jail  door  open;  and  he 
also  forgot  and  left  a  Winchester  rifle  and  100  rounds  of 
cartridges  where  Read  could  get  them. 

Soon  the  mob  came  in  sight.  Read  lay  on  top  of  a 
stockade  with  his  rifle  ready  to  do  business.  When  with 
in  a  few  hundred  yards  of  the  jail,  Webb  Leasier  the  man 
who  is  said  to  have  killed  Ivory  Bean,  succeeded  in  stop 
ping  the  mob.  He  had  been  pleading  with  them  to  let  the 
law  takes  its  course,  as  Read  was  a  brother  Odd  Fellow  of 
his ;  but  they  wouldn't  listen,  until  finally  Webb  Leasier  got 
in  front  of  the  leaders  with  cocked  gun,  and  threatened  to 
kill  the  first  one  who  made  another  step  forward.  They 
knew  he  meant  business,  and  besides,  they  loved  him  as  a 
good  "scab-killer,"  so  they  turned  back  and  spoiled  Read's 
chance  of  making  a  glorious  name  as  a  slayer  of  dynamit 
ers. 

Webb  Leasier's  action  goes  to  prove  that  there  is  some 
good  in  all  men,  even  in  murderers. 

At  the  preliminary  trial  before  my  friend,  Judge  Angel, 
in  Wallace,  Read  was  liberated. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  191 

This  ends  the  second  and  last  act  of  the  bloody  Coeur 
d'Alene  strike  of  1892,  which  taught  me  many  new  les 
sons  in  my  study  of  human  nature. 

My  only  regret  is  that  I  couldn't  have  bottled  up  that 
hole  in  the  floor  before  it  went  up  in  smoke,  so  as  to  keep 
it  as  a  relic  to  be  handed  down  to  my  descendants,  to  re 
mind  them  of  the  first  time  their  worthy  grandsire  had 
crawled  into  a  hole  in  time  of  danger. 

The  Coeur  d'Alene  trouble  had  been  caused  through  the 
miners'  union  wanting  to  dictate  as  to  how  the  mines 
should  be  run.  When  they  made  a  demand  for  shorter 
hours,  and  that  "muckers"  and  common  roustabouts  re 
ceive  $3.50  per  day,  the  same  wages  as  skilled  miners,  the 
mine-owners  closed  down  the  mines  and  sent  out  for  non 
union  men. 


CHAPTER  IX 

IN  JAIL  WITH  Two  MURDERERS — TESTING  RAILWAY 
CONDUCTORS — TRAMPING  AS  A  HOBO  THROUGH  COLO 
RADO,  NEW  MEXICO,  ARIZONA,  CALIFORNIA  AND 
TEXAS — ROBBERY  OF  THE  TREADWELL  GOLD  MILL 
IN  ALASKA — WE  CAPTURE  THE  THIEVES  AND  RE 
COVER  THE  GOLD. 

From  now  on  I  shall  merely  skim  over  the  surface  of 
some  of  my  experiences,  as  I  find  that  one  medium  size 
volume  will  not  contain  it  all  if  given  in  full. 

One  of  my  important  operations  was  for  the  A.  &  B.  C. 
Ry.  Co.  My  friends,  Doc  Shores  and  Ed  Farr,  had  charge 
of  the  work.  And  Attorney  Charlie  Johnson  prosecuted 
the  case. 

Dick  Manley  and  Young  Anderson  had  started  out  on  a 
robbery  crusade,  and  had  killed  one  man  and  wounded 
another.  I  spent  three  weeks  in  the  Pueblo  jail  with  these 
two  young  outlaws  and  secured  a  full  confession  from 
them. 

In  Walsenburg,  Colo.,  I  appeared  on  the  witness  stand, 
with  the  result  that  Dick  Manley  was  sentenced  to  seven 
teen  years  in  the  penitentiary;  but  after  serving  several 
years,  I  used  my  influence  in  getting  him  a  pardon  from 
Governor  Mclntire.  His  sister,  Mrs.  Birmingham,  whose 
husband  had  been  a  former  cowboy  companion  of  mine  in 
Texas,  had  pled  for  Dick's  release,  as  he  had  promised  to 
lead  an  upright  life  in  the  future. 

192 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  193 

Young  Manley  kept  his  promise  about  two  months,  then 
killed  a  man  at  Red  River  City,  N.  M.  A  few  months  lat 
er  he  held  up  a  bank  in  Breckenridge,  Colo.,  killing  two 
officers,  and  being  killed  himself. 

During  the  years  1893  and  '94  I  led  an  exciting  life. 

About  three  months  of  this  time  I  was  posing  as  a 
wealthy  mining  man  in  Denver,  under  the  name  of  Chas. 
Le  Roy.  Our  client  was  A.B.  Farnum  and  the  victim  was 
N.  D.  Lewis,  the  case  being  a  $25,000  mining  suit.  Our 
side  won  through  Lewis  being  so  foolish  as  to  let  me  hear 
the  secret  discussions  with  his  lawyers. 

While  on  this  operation  I  hob-nobbed  with  my  friend, 
Dan  V.,  of  Mudsill  mine  fame,  without  his  knowing  that 
I  was  the  same  Chas.  Leon  who  had  once  put  him  "on  the 
bum."  He  was  Lewis'  chum  and  adviser. 

After  finishing  the  Farnum  "case  I  put  on  bum  clothes 
and  became  one  of  the  unwashed  Coxeyites,  in  Wyoming, 
for  the  Union  Pacific  Railroad  Co. 

The  Debs'  A.  R.  U.  strike  was  then  raging  through  the 
West  over  the  Pullman  Car  Co.  dispute.  I  saw  much 
"scab"  blood  spilled  by  union  sluggers  jumping  onto  un 
armed  non-union  railway  employes. 

I  also  put  in  several  months  "testing"  freight  and 
passenger  conductors  all  over  one  of  the  greatest  railroad 
systems  in  Colorado  and  Texas. 

On  leaving  Denver  in  a  freight  caboose,  a  drunken 
Irishman  and  I  had  a  swift  ride  down  a  mountain  side 
from  Hilltop.  Three  loaded  freight  cars  and  the  caboose 
had  broken  loose  from  the  train  while  the  crew  were  at 
the  station  of  Hilltop.  "Micky's"  prayers  to  the  Virgin 
Mary,  and  a  white  cow  asleep  on  the  track,  saved  our 

13 


194  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

lives,  after  going  around  ten  miles  of  crooked  mountain 
curves  at  a  gait  of  about  ten  miles  a  minute. 

My  work  took  me  over  ground  in  the  Panhandle  of 
Texas,  where  I  had  run  cattle,  and  many  of  my  old  cow 
boy  chums  were  met.  But  I  had  to  tell  them  whopping 
big  lies  about  how  I  was  on  the  lookout  for  a  "bad"  man. 

One  of  my  operations  was  playing  hobo  and  tramping 
over  the  S.  T.  &  G.  R.  Ry.  through  Colorado,  New  Mexi 
co,  Arizona,  California  and  Texas.  The  work  was  being 
done  for  a  high  official. 

I  had  many  new  experiences  on  this  trip.  At  one  point 
on  the  Mohave  desert,  I  had  been  put  off  a  train  three 
times  and  had  to  walk  fifteen  miles  without  water.  On 
this  fifteen  mile  tramp  I  overtook  a  crippled  Irishman  with 
red  sideburns  and  the  map  of  the  "ould  sod"  smeared  all 
over  his  face.  He  walked  with  a  stick  and  carried  a  small 
bundle  wrapped  in  a  red  handkerchief.  I  had  been  walk 
ing  fast  to  overtake  him  so  as  to  have  company.  We  sat 
down  on  the  end  of  the  ties  to  rest,  and  I  asked  him  what 
he  was  doing  out  on  this  desert.  He  replied  that  he  was 
hunting  work.  I  asked  if  he  had  lost  any  work.  He 
smiled  and  said :  "No,  begorry,  but  I'm  going  back  east 
to  find  a  job  that  will  fit  me  complexion.  I  was  offered  a 
job  last  winter  in  Californy,  but  I  belongs  to  a  union  and 
I  won't  work  in  a  state  that  has  so  many  scab  Chinamen. 
They  can  all  go  to  the  divel,  I  won't  scab." 

We  were  both  panting  for  a  drink  of  water.  Further 
on  were  a  house  and  wind  mill  half  a  mile  from  the 
railroad  track.  This  was  the  first  house  seen  for  many 
miles.  When  opposite  the  ranch,  I  wanted  Irish  to  go 
with  me  and  get  a  drink  of  water,  but  he  said  he  was 


A    COWBOY  DETECTIVE  195 

"peetered  out"  and  couldn't  stand  the  tramp  over  the 
grass  and  sage  brush.  He  asked  me  to  bring  him  a  drink 
in  a  tin  can.  I  then  started. 

Arriving  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  the  house,  a  tall 
man  came  out  holding  a  bulldog  by  a  chain.  In  a  loud 
voice  he  ordered  me  off  his  land  or  he  would  turn  the  dog 
loose.  I  hallooed  and  told  him  that  I  just  wanted  a  drink 
of  water.  He  called  back  that  he  had  no  water  for  me  and 
that  if  I  didn't  move  on  he  would  turn  the  dog  loose.  The 
white  dog  was  making  frantic  efforts  to  free  himself,  and 
old  Colt's  45  under  my  left  arm  where  it  couldn't  be 
seen  was  ready  for  a  struggle  too.  I  had  no  fear  of 
the  dog,  but  thought  maybe  the  rancher  might  have  a 
long-range  rifle  in  the  house ;  so  I  turned  back. 

On  the  way  to  the  house  I  had  noticed  a  few  milk  cows 
in  a  deep  arroyo  off  to  my  right  and  not  far  from  the  rail 
road  track.  I  angled  towards  this  arroyo,  in  hopes  of 
finding  a  gentle  cow  among  them.  On  reaching  the  cattle 
I  was  out  of  sight  from  the  house.  I  used  diplomacy  by 
sitting  down  near  the  cows  so  they  could  get  acquainted 
with  me.  They  soon  came  "nosing"  around  to  satisfy 
their  curiosity.  Only  one  cow  would  let  me  go  up  and  rub 
her  head,  and  she  was  a  Jersey  with  a  bag  full  of  baby- 
food.  While  she  chewed  the  cud  of  contentment,  I  got 
down  on  my  knees  and  milked  the  fluid  into  my  mouth. 
This  was  no  new  experience  with  me,  as  I  had  practiced 
it  for  whole  days  when  a  little  bare-foot  boy  in  Texas,  at 
times  when  I  was  afraid  to  go  home  on  account  of  a 
promised  whipping. 

After  I  was  full  to  overflowing,  I  went  up  on  high 
ground  and  called  Irish.  He  came  and  I  told  him  about 


196  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

the  rancher  and  the  dog,  and  of  what  a  soft  snap  the  old 
cow  was.  Irish  didn't  think  that  he  could  connect  a 
stream  of  milk  with  his  mouth,  so  I  gave  him  my  white 
felt  hat  -to  use  for  a  cup  by  crushing  in  the  crown  and  us 
ing  the  outside  for  a  vessel.  His  old  straw  hat  was  put 
onto  my  head.  When  Irish  reached  the  bottom  of  the 
arroyo,  the  cows  raised  their  heads  and  tails  and  flew  for 
the  house.  If  that  isn't  luck,  what  is  it?  I  told  Irish  that 
I  thought  the  cows  had  smelled  his  red  side-whiskers.  He 
tried  to  smile,  but  was  too  downhearted. 

A  walk  of  five  miles  brought  us  to  the  first  little  town. 
Here  I  put  a  "jolt  of  the  critter" — good  old  red  "licker" — 
under  Irish's  belt  and  then  took  him  to  a  Chinese  restau 
rant  and  filled  him  up  on  "scab"  grub. 

On  this  operation,  which  lasted  a  few  months,  I  had 
some  narrow  escapes  and  saw  many  funny  sights.  Once 
I  was  locked  up  in  a  box  car  loaded  with  scrap-iron, 
and  for  awhile  I  sweated  blood  in  fear  of  a  wreck.  And 
once  I  had  to  stand  off  a  crew  of  railroad  men,  with  my 
pistol,  who  wanted  to  pound  me  to  death  because  I  was 
found  among  some  heavy  timbers  on  one  of  the  freight 
cars  after  I  had  been  put  off  the  same  train  three  times. 
On  the  trip  I  spent  half  my  salary  feeding  poor  bums 
whom  I  thought  deserved  pity. 

At  Isleta  Station,  twenty-two  miles  south  of  Albu 
querque,  N.  M.,  I  found  an  honest  tramp.  He  was  hungry 
and  wet  after  having  been  put  off  a  train  during  the  night 
in  a  rain  storm.  When  I  saw  him  first,  early  in  the  morn 
ing,  he  was  under  the  watertank  wringing  the  water  from 
his  clothes.  He  was  a  tall,  well-built  man,  and  he  claimed 
to  be  a  son  of  Judge  Caldwell,  a  once  popular  judge  of 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  197 

the  Lone  Star  state,  and  he  said  that  his  widowed  mother 
then  lived  in  California ;  that  about  a  year  previous  he  had 
sold  a  mine  in  Hillsboro,  N.  M.,  for  $20,000  and  had 
gone  to  Europe  to  blow  in  the  money ;  that  now,  he  was 
getting  back,  flat  broke.  How  much  of  this  story  was 
"hot  air,"  I  had  no  way  of  knowing.  After  the  honorable 
fool  Caldwell  had  donned  his  wet  clothes  I  took  him  up 
to  the  Indian  village  where  I  had  stopped  all  night  at  an 
Indian  house,  and  filled  him  up  on  tortillas,  frijoles  and 
hot  coffee.  Then  we  both  boarded  a  south-bound  freight 
train,  secreting  ourselves  in  a  loaded  box  car  of  coal. 
When  the  "brakey"  found  us  I  gave  him  fifty  cents  for  my 
fare  to  Los  Lunas,  as  far  as  I  wanted  to  go  with  that 
crew,  and  one  dollar  for  Caldwell's  fare  to  the  end  of  that 
division. 

On  bidding  Caldwell  goodby,  I  gave  him  $1.50  more  to 
pay  his  way  to  Hillsboro.  He  insisted  on  having  my  ad 
dress,  so  that  he  could  send  me  this  borrowed  money  when 
he  reached  his  friends  in  Hillsboro.  I  gave  him  the  ad 
dress  of  Chas.  Le  Roy,  El  Paso,  Texas,  and  on  reaching 
that  town  a  week  later,  I  found  a  postoffice  money-order 
for  the  amount  of  the  debt,  $2.50,  also  a  nice  letter  of 
thanks.  This  shows  that  there  is  honor  even  among 
tramps. 

About  February,  1895,  Superintendent  McCartney 
called  me  into  his  office  and  told  me  to  get  ready  for  a 
trip  to  Alaska.  He  went  on  to  tell  of  the  importance  to 
the  agency  of  this  operation.  He  advised  me  to  do  my 
best  to  make  the  operation  a  success,  as  our  Portland  of 
fice,  which  had  lately  been  established  under  the  superin- 
tendency  of  Mr.  Wooster,  had  lately  made  a  failure  of  the 


198  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

work.  He  also  went  on  to  tell  me  how  the  Treadwell 
mine,  on  Douglas  Island,  had  been  robbed  during  the 
winter  of  $10,000  worth  of  gold ;  that  the  next  day  Mr. 
Durkin,  superintendent  of  the  big  Treadwell  mine,  had 
sent  a  letter  to  Victoria,  B.  C,  on  an  outgoing  steamer,  to 
the  Western  Union  Telegraph  office  with  instructions  to 
wire  the  Dickenson  National  Detective  agency  in  Port 
land  to  send  three  good  operatives  to  Juneau,  Alaska,  on 
the  first  steamer ;  that  Mr.  Wooster  complied  with  the  re 
quest,  not  knowing  the  nature  of  the  work;  that  these 
three  operatives  remained  in  Alaska  for  a  month  or  two, 
but  failed  to  get  a  clue  as  to  what  became  of  the  gold; 
then  Mr.  Durkin  called,  the  operation  off  and  sent  the 
operatives  back  to  Portland;  that  soon  after  the  work 
was  called  off  as  a  failure,  Mr.  Durkin  went  to  San 
Diego,  Cal.,  on  a  pleasure  trip,  and  there,  by  chance,  met 
Mr.  Wm.  L.  Dickenson;  that  the  subject  of  the  failure  to 
recover  the  stolen  gold  came  up,  and  Mr.  Dickenson  laid 
the  failure  to  the  fact  that  he  (Durkin)  had  not  written 
the  agency  the  full  details  of  the  robbery  instead  of  wiring 
for  three  operatives,  for  then,  operatives  who  were  fitted 
for  that  kind  of  work  could  have  been  secured  from  other 
offices  in  case  the  Portland  branch  didn't  have  them ;  then 
Mr.  Dickenson  told  Superintendent  Durkin  that  although 
it  was  late  now  to  make  a  success,  he  believed  they  could 
select  men  who  would  get  a  clue  as  to  what  became  of  the 
gold,  and  possibly  get  the  gold  itself;  that  then  Super 
intendent  Durkin  told  Mr.  Dickenson  to  go  ahead  and 
put  two  men  on  the  case,  regardless  of  expense ;  that  Mr. 
Dickenson  then  wrote  Superintendent  McCartney  recom 
mending  me  for  the  operation.  This,  of  course,  put  me 
on  my  dignity,  and  I  determined  to  do  my  best. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  199 

It  was  agreed  that  a  few  weeks  later,  Operative  W.  O. 
Sayles  would  be  sent  to  Alaska  to  assist  me. 

In  the  early  part  of  March  I  boarded  the  Topeka,  at 
Tacoma,  Wash.,  for  Juneau,  Alaska.  The  trip  on  smooth 
waters,  among  whales  and  "totem-poles"  opened  my  eyes 
to  a  new  world  of  which  I  had  never  dreamed. 

On  arriving  in  Juneau,  a  swift  little  city  built  on  stilts 
mostly,  I  at  once  wrote  to  Superintendent  Durkin  on 
Douglas  Island,  across  the  bay,  of  my  arrival.  At  night 
in  a  secluded  place  I  met  Mr.  Durkin  and  his  assistant, 
Mr.  Bordus. 

It  was  agreed  that  I  apply  for  work  in  the  big  Tread- 
well  gold  mill,  the  largest  in  the  world,  in  a  regular  way, 
and  Mr.  Bordus  would  make  a  place  for  me.  No  one  but 
Mr.  Durkin  and  Mr.  Bordus  were  to  know  of  my  identity 
or  my  business.  I  secured  a  job  as  machine  oiler.  This 
work  took  me  to  all  parts  of  the  mill  where  I  could  make 
the  acquaintance  of  all  the  employes.  Part  of  the  time  I 
was  on  the  day-shift,  then  I  changed  to  the  night-shift. 
In  oiling  the  machinery,  I  had  to  climb  around  in  ticklish 
places  where  a  misstep  or  a  false  move  would  land  me  in 
the  "kingdomcome." 

Once  I  came  within  a  hair's-breadth  of  going  down  into 
the  midst  of  revolving  wheels.  I  had  barely  room  to  walk 
between  two  large  revolving  belts.  I  had  stooped  to 
oil  a  piece  of  machinery  and  in  raising  up,  swerved  a 
little  to  the  right  and  was  struck  on  the  head  by  the  belt 
on  that  side.  My  hat,  I  suppose,  is  going  yet,  for  I  haven't 
seen  it  since. 

By  the  time  Operative  W.  O.  Sayles  arrived,  three 
weeks  after  my  arrival,  I  concluded  that  we  had  a  clue 


200  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

and  that  Charlie  Hubbard  and  Hiram  Schell,  two  mill 
hands,  who  had  quit  work  and  bought  a  small  schooner 
and  sailed  westward  a  month  after  the  robbery,  were  the 
thieves.  No  one  knew  what  had  become  of  these  men,  as 
they  didn't  tell  any  one  where  they  were  going  with  their 
little  schooner. 

Operative  Sayles  and  I  discussed  matters  in  Juneau, 
between  drinks,  at  the  big  dance  hall  where  fish-eating 
Indian  maidens  do  the  dance  act  to  relieve  the  noble  white 
man  of  his  dollars. 

We  decided  to  buy  a  large  canoe,  one  that  would  hold 
two  cowboys  (Sayles  had  been  a  cowboy  in  Montana) 
and  twenty-five  gallons  of  whisky  and  go  on  the  trail  of 
Hubbard  and  Schell.  We  had  both  trailed  horses,  cattle 
and  men,  but  never  a  schooner  on  water. 

It  was  agreed  that  Sayles  keep  his  weather  eye  open 
for  a  good  Indian  canoe,  while  I  returned  to  the  mill  to 
break  my  arm  and  recover  from  the  wound.  In  order  to 
keep  down  suspicion,  it  was  necessary  for  me  to  have  an 
excuse  for  quitting  my  job,  therefore  I  concluded  to  break 
my  arm  that  night. 

It  was  on  the  night-shift,  and  after  midnight  lunch,  I 
found  a  secluded  place  in  the  basement,  and  started  the 
scheme.  The  point  of  my  left  shoulder  was  rubbed  with 
chips  and  stuff  until  the  skin  was  almost  off,  and  it 
looked  red.  Then  I  went  to  work  in  the  upper  stories  of 
the  mill.  At  the  foot  of  a  slippery  pair  of  stairs  there 
was  a  floor  covered  with  slush  and  mud.  Here  was  just 
the  place  for  me  to  land,  so  as  to  put  on  a  muddy  appear 
ance.  Near  the  foot  of  these  stairs  stood  two  men  work 
ing  at  the  "plates."  I  waited  until  their  backs  were  to- 


rA  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  201 

wards  me,  then  I  went  tumbling  down  the  last  flight  of 
the  stairs.  I  landed  broadside  in  the  mud,  and  my  lantern 
was  struck  with  such  force  against  the  floor  that  it  flew 
all  to  pieces. 

Of  course  the  men  heard  the  fall  and  ran  to  my  assist 
ance.  I  was  picked  up  and  the  company  doctor  sent  for. 
I  complained  the  most  about  the  pain  in  my  left  shoulder, 
which  I  said  had  struck  against  an  upright  timber  in  front 
of  the  stairs.  My  shirts  were  pulled  off  and  the  doctor 
made  an  examination  of  the  seat  of  the  pain.  He  looked 
wise  and  decided  that  the  shoulder  was  not  broken,  but 
that  the  muscles  of  my  arm  were  badly  bruised  from  the 
contact  with  the  post.  What  fooled  him  was  the  fact  that  I 
couldn't  raise  my  arm  beyond  a  level.  He  saturated  cot 
ton  with  liniment  and  put  it  on  the  shoulder.  Then  the 
arm  was  put  in  a  sling  and  I  was  put  to  bed  with  much 
sympathy  from  the  hired  men  who  assisted  me  to  my 
bunk.  The  next  day  at  noon  I  was  able  to  take  my  place 
at  the  table  where  a  hundred  or  more  men  ate  their  meals. 
"Reddy"  sat  next  to  me  and  wasted  much  of  his  valuable 
time  cutting  my  meat  as  I  only  had  one  hand,  the  other 
being  in  a  sling.  And  poor  "Reddy"  kept  up  his  sympa 
thetic  lick  for  several  days  until  I  drew  my  pay  and  left 
for  Juneau. 

Just  before  drawing  my  wages  and  quitting1  the  mill 
job,  Sayles  had  found  Hubbard  and  Schell  and  their 
schooner  lying  on  the  water  front  among  the  other  boats 
in  Juneau.  He  had  been  watching  for  the  little  schooner 
which  we  had  a  description  of.  She  had  mysteriously 
slipped  into  port  one  evening  and  just  as  mysteriously 
slipped  out  next  morning.  But  while  she  lay  in  port  that 


202  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

evening,  Sayles  went  aboard  and  searched  the  locker. 
Later,  when  the  owners  came  from  uptown,  Sayles  got 
into  a  conversation  with  them  and  found  their  names  were 
Schell  and  Hubbard,  and  that  they  had  just  come  from  the 
west  coast  of  Admiralty  Island,  but  what  particular  place 
he  couldn't  find  out. 

The  news  of  Schell  and  Hubbard  having  been  in 
Juneau,  cured  my  sore  shoulder  quickly.  On  my  arrival 
in  Juneau  we  bought  one  of  the  large  Indian  canoes 
which  Sayles  had  "spotted."  It  was  forty  feet  long  and 
painted  with  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow.  Her  bow  and 
stern  were  built  high  above  the  water  to  ward  off  the 
heavy  seas. 

After  our  new  ship  was  rigged  up  with  a  sail  which  could 
be  taken  down,  mast  and  all,  we  loaded  up  with  the  nec 
essaries  of  life,  including  twenty-five  gallons  of  good  Ca 
nadian  rye  whisky.  The  main  object  in  taking  the  whisky 
along  was  to  pass  ourselves  off  as  whisky  peddlers  among 
the  Indians,  and  as  bait  for  Schell  and  Hubbard  in  case 
we  found  them.  Before  starting,  we  bought  a  fine  chart 
of  the  Alaskan  coast. 

So  as  to  prevent  hard  feelings,  I  suggested  to  Sayles 
that  we  take  turns  about  being  captain  or  boss  of  the  ship  ; 
that  when  he  was  captain  I  was  to  be  the  slave,  and  vice 
versa.  He  agreed  to  this. 

Sayles  was  captain  the  first  day  out  and  we  had  smooth 
sailing,  but  the  next  day  we  got  caught  in  a  mighty  storm 
and  were  tangled  up  in  a  tide-riff.  We  had  never  heard  of 
a  tide-riff,  where  two  tides  meet,  and  in  a  storm  make  the 
sea  "choppy"  and  very  dangerous  for  small  boats.  But 
we  were  not  long  learning  that  the  Indians  dodge  these 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  203 

tide-riffs,  "all  same"  a  Kansas  Populist  dodges  prosper 
ity  and  cyclones. 

During  this  storm  on  an  inlet  several  miles  wide,  Sayles 
turned  pale  and  began  bossing  as  to  what  was  best  to  be 
done,  but  I  laughed  and  told  him  to  keep  his  "fly-trap" 
shut,  as  he  was  only  a  slave.  He  tried  to  smile  but 
couldn't,  as  his  heart  was  not  in  a  smiling  mood ;  besides, 
he  was  kept  busy  bailing  out  the  water  which  washed  over 
the  canoe's  side  to  the  windward.  I  sat  in  the  stern  ma 
nipulating  the  Indian  paddle  used  for  a  rudder,  and  the 
sail.  The  only  thing  that  kept  me  from  getting  scared 
was  the  importance  of  my  position  as  captain.  It  was 
amusing  to  me  to  have  "Hold  Hengland"  at  my  feet  beg 
ging  to  be  saved.  You  see,  Sayles  was  an  Englishman,  or 
at  least,  a  misborn  Irishman,  he  having  been  born  in  Ire 
land  of  quite  wealthy  English  parents,  therefore  missed 
the  chance  of  being  born  at  home.  Sayles  had  had  very 
little  experience  on  salt  water,  while  most  of  my  bare 
foot  days  were  spent  on  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  in  southern 
Texas,  chasing  coons,  crabs,  oysters  and  sea-fowls. 
Therefore  when  it  came  to  handling  a  small  sail-boat  I 
was  right  at  home. 

It  is  said  that  "An  honest  confession  is  good  for  the 
soul,"  so  I  must  confess  that  before  being  out  a  month 
Old  England  had  America  at  her  feet,  begging  for  mercy. 
We  were  crossing  the  mouth  of  Hood's  Bay  in  a  severe 
storm  which  was  drifting  us  out  to  the  big  water  ten 
miles  across,  Hood's  Bay  itself  only  being  three  miles 
wide.  I  begged  Sayles  to  turn  back  after  we  were  out 
from  shore  only  half  a  mile.,  but  he  just  laughed  and  re 
minded  me  of  the  fact  that  he  was  captain  that  day.  He 
had  learned  to  be  fearless  on  the  water. 


204  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

On  reaching  shore  on  this,  our  second  day  out,  we  had 
to  both  jump  out  in  the  white-capped  breakers  to  keep  our 
canoe  from  being  pounded  to  pieces  against  the  rocks; 
for  in  these  Alaskan  inlets  and  channels  it  is  a  hard  mat 
ter  to  find  a  safe  landing  place.  The  heavily  timbered 
mountains  with  their  craggy  edges  come  right  down  to 
the  water's  edge,  the  only  sandy  beaches  being  at  the 
mouth  of  fresh- water  streams,  or  at  a  projecting  point. 

On  landing,  a  big  Indian  slipped  out  of  the  timber  and, 
jumping  into  the  water,  helped  us  pull  the  canoe  out 
high  and  dry  on  the  shore.  Then  Mr.  "Ingin"  helped  us 
get  a  fire  started  in  the  rain,  by  using  wide  bark  for  a 
shelter  from  the  water  which  was  falling.  For  this  kind 
help  we  filled  his  hide  full  of  Canadian-rye  juice,  and  he 
was  soon  laid  out  on  the  dry  side  of  a  large  spruce  tree. 
Of  course  Sayles  and  I  didn't  forget  to  put  a  few  "jolts" 
of  the  rye  under  our  belts,  as  we  were  wet  and  cold.  For 
the  next  few  weeks  we  were  sailing  unknown  waters,  and 
most  of  the  time  among  Indians  who  couldn't  speak  any 
English.  Often  the  channels  would  be  so  narrow  that 
we  could  throw  a  stone  on  either  side  and  hit  the  land, 
while  other  times  the  water  would  be  ten  miles  across. 

From  Indians,  who  could  talk  and  understand  a  little 
English,  we  heard  of  our  little  schooner  and  the  two 
strange  white  men  sailing  westward.  Thus  we  knew  we 
were  on  the  right  trail. 

From  now  on,  we  had  some  narrow  escapes  from  being 
swamped.  Once  in  a  storm  we  got  our  canoe  tangled  up 
in  about  a  hundred  acres  of  sea-weed,  and  couldn't  get 
out  for  a  long  time.  But  at  last,  we  made  a  landing  on  a 
small  island  and  camped  for  the  night. 


205 

We  finally  learned  by  experience  that  the  storms  all 
came  in  the  daytime,  so  then  we  travelled  at  night  when 
the  water  is  generally  as  smooth  as  glass.  But  there  being 
no  wind  at  night  for  our  sail,  we  had  to  take  turns  about 
rowing. 

The  sun  went  to  roost  between  9  and  10  o'clock,  and 
from  that  time  until  1 1 :3<D  p.  m.  it  was  dusk,  almost  as 
light  as  day.  Then  at  1 130  a.  m.  day  would  begin  to 
break. 

One  of  our  narrow  escapes  happened  one  night  about 
ii  p.  m.  The  water  was  like  crystal,  not  a  breath  of  air 
was  stirring.  Sayles  was  rowing  and  I  was  steering  with 
the  paddle.  Seeing  a  black  object  like  a  small  island 
ahead,  I  steered  for  that.  When  within  a  few  hundred 
yards  of  the  supposed  island,  Sayles'  bump  of  caution  be 
gan  to  work  and  he  advised  me  to  steer  away  from  it  as 
it  might  be  a  sleeping  whale.  He  said  they  were  very 
dangerous  when  suddenly  awakened  and  that  they  were 
liable  to  scoot  straight  towards  us,  which  would  mean 
possible  death  to  both.  He  confessed  that  his  knowledge 
on  the  matter  had  been  gained  from  books,  so  I  told  him 
that  actual  experience  was  the  best  teacher.  It  was  my 
night  to  be  captain,  so  that  he  had  no  right  to  "chip  in." 
My  phrenology  bump  of  curiosity  was  at  work,  therefore 
I  steered  just  a  little  to  the  left  of  the  half  an  acre  of 
black  substance.  When  nearly  opposite  at  a  distance  of 
about  100  yards,  we  discovered  that  it  was  a  whale  with 
out  a  doubt.  There  could  be  no  mistake,  for  there  was  his 
head  and  about  one  or  two  hundred  feet  further  down 
the  line  was  his  tail.  Sayles  was  pulling  hard,  and  ap 
parently  sweating  blood.  He  said  we  must  get  further 


206  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

away  before  the  thing  woke  up.  Just  then  a  new  thought 
struck  me  and  I  said,  "Holy  smoke,  Sayles,  here's  the 
chance  of  my  life  to  shoot  big  game !"  As  I  raised  the 
large  caliber  Winchester  rifle  which  reclined  by  my  side 
Sayles  threw  up  both  hands  and  said,  "For  God's  sake, 
don't  do  it,  Charlie !" 

I  had  aimed  just  back  of  Mr.  Whale's  gills  or  throat. 
The  bullet  hadn't  more  than  struck  him  when  I  wished  I 
had  taken  my  partner's  advice.  He  went  around  and 
around  with  the  rapidity  of  a  cyclone,  churning  the  water 
into  a  foam,  the  waves  reaching  our  canoe.  Then  straight 
down  he  went,  leaving  a  hole  in  the  water.  This  hole 
rilling  up  again,  sucked  us  toward  it,  and  I  imagined  I 
could  see  Hades  at  the  bottom  of  the  hole.  But  here, 
luck  got  in  her  work  in  my  favor  again,  and  the  hole  was 
closed  up  before  we  reached  it.  This  was  my  last  shot  at 
that  kind  of  big  game.  I  hit  him  all  right,  for  there  was 
much  blood  on  the  water. 

Sayles  "sulked"  the  balance  of  the  night,  and  when  he 
tried  to  drown  me  in  the  mouth  of  Hood's  Bay  in  that 
storm  I  believe  he  was  trying  to  "play  even",  on  me  and 
the  whale. 

At  a  place  called  "Cootch-in-aboo  Head,"  which  was 
designated  on  our  chart,  we  concluded  to  explore  the 
mouth  of  what  looked  to  be  a  river.  The  tide  was  run 
ning  into  it  like  a  mill-race,  so  we  went  at  a  swift  gait  up 
the  stream.  By  night  we  came  to  a  large  Indian  village 
and  the  Indian  bucks  came  down  to  the  water-front  with 
rifles  to  meet  us.  We  let  them  smell  and  taste  our  "fire 
water"  to  see  if  it  was  the  right  kind  to  use  as  a  blind,  in 
passing  ourselves  off  for  whisky  peddlers.  Finding  these 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  207 

Indians  friendly  and  hospitable,  we  lay  here  all  next  day 
and  I  tried  hard  to  fall  in  love  with  a  young  maiden 
whose  sire  and  dame  encouraged  my  suit,  but  she  smelled 
"fishy"  like  all  the  Alaskan  Indians  do  from  living  on 
fish,  and  I  couldn't  get  my  phrenology  love-bump  in 
working  order. 

After  leaving  this  village  and  returning  to  "Cootch-in- 
aboo  Head,"  we  laid  over  a  day  to  fish  for  halibut.  They 
are  plentiful  here.  We  had  brought  along  two  halibut 
lines  which  were  over  100  feet  long. 

There  is  no  end  to  the  different  kinds  of  fish,  crabs  and 
clams  which  inhabit  these  waters.  We  tried  them  all  and 
towards  the  last  began  to  smell  "fishy"  ourselves. 

On  this  trip  we  stopped  at  Funter's  Bay  and  visited  a 
noted  character,  old  man  Willoby,  who  was  about  eighty 
years  old  and  had  four  Indian  wives  and  a  good  undevel 
oped  gold  mine.  He  had  come  to  that  country  twenty-five 
years  previous  as  a  missionary,  and  after  seeing  these  fat, 
pig-eyed  squaws  ,he  fell  from  grace. 

Often  we  would  travel  for  days  and  never  see  even  an 
Indian.  Then  we  would  begin  to  feel  lonesome.  The  In 
dians  we  met  were  mostly  Chilcats,  Sitkas  and  Chiekes. 
Many  of  them  had  their  faces  and  hands  painted  black  to 
guard  against  the  swarms  of  mosquitoes  and  flies. 

We  had  very  little  fresh  meat  on  the  trip,  as  the  many 
deer,  bear  and  goats  were  too  poor  at  that  season  of  the 
year  to  make  good  eating. 

After  following  the  mainland  and  searching  many  chan 
nels  and  inlets,  we  crossed  over  a  wide  water  to  the  east 
coast  of  Bishcoff  Island,  thence  south  nearly  to  Sitka,  the 
capital,  thence  east  across  the  big  water  to  the  west  coast 


208  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

of  Admiralty  Island.  This  island  is  over  a  hundred  miles 
wide,  and  I  think  from  one  hundred  and  fifty  to  two  hun 
dred  miles  long.  After  traveling  about  600  miles,  count 
ing  the  waste  miles  when  we  were  lost  and  went  back 
wards,  we  found  the  little  schooner  up  in  Chieke  Bay, 
about  twenty  miles  south  of  Killisnoo,  a  place  where 
steamers  plying  between  Juneau  and  Sitka  stop.  She  was 
anchored  in  front  of  the  Indian  village  of  Chieke. 

We  found  Schell  and  Hubbard  taking  life  easy.  Here 
they  had  a  friend  by  the  name  of  Hicks,  a  re-constructed 
Missourian,  from  his  looks.  He  was  married  to  "Hias" 
Jennie,  the  richest  Indian  woman  in  the  village,  her 
wealth  being  in  the  form  of  blankets.  She  had  tons  of 
them.  They  have  no  other  kind  of  wealth.  "Hias" 
means  big,  and  Jennie  was  indeed  a  large  Indian  woman, 
but  we  found  her  to  be  a  pretty  good  old  sister,  after  she 
became  acquainted  with  us  and  our  Canadian  rye. 

Hicks  .had  saved  up  some  money  and  had  recently  gone 
into  the  stock  business.  He  had  sent  his  money  to  a 
stock-dealer  in  Seattle,  Wash.,  on  one  of  the  steamers,  and 
wrote  him  to  send  a  start  of  hogs,  chickens  and  cattle. 
They  were  finally  unloaded  at  Killisnoo,  and  Schell  and 
Hubbard  brought  them  from  there  to  Chieke  in  their 
schooner. 

The  stock  consisted  of  a  razor-back  barrow  hog,  one 
dozen  Leghorn  hens,  no  rooster,  and  a  black  muley  cow 
which  had  a  papoose  shortly  after  her  arrival.  Many  of 
these  Indians  had  never  seen  or  heard  of  cattle  before, 
and  they  regarded  old  muley  and  her  black  papoose  as 
evil  spirits.  Even  "Hias"  Jennie  wouldn't  go  near  them 
or  drink  the  milk,  so  muley  and  her  calf  were  turned  out 


209 

on  the  tall  grass  to  rustle  for  themselves.  But  while  we 
were  there,  they  were  kept  pretty  busy  fighting  flies  and 
mosquitoes. 

The  big  barrow  hog  was  the  most  contented  animal  in 
the  village,  for  he  had  the  leavings  of  all  the  fish  caught 
by  the  several  hundred  Indians,  but  no  doubt  Hicks  is 
out  of  the  hog  business  ere  this,  as  there  was  no  chance 
for  an  increase. 

The  chickens  were  kept  scratching  for  sea-fleas  along 
the  water  edge,  both  day  and  night,  to  keep  body  and  soul 
together.  These  sea-fleas  are  the  size  of  mustard  seed, 
and  the  hens  seemed  to  like  them,  but  it  required  so  many 
to  make  a  mess.  The  hens  had  twenty  hours  of  daylight 
to  scratch  in.  No  telling  what  became  of  the  poor  "bid 
dies"  the  following  winter  when  there  were  but  three 
hours  of  good  daylight. 

We  didn't  tarry  long  in  Chieke  Village,  but  went  on  up 
to  the  head  of  Chieke  Bay,  three  miles  distant,  to  look 
for  the  "Lost  Rocker"  gold  mine,  which  tradition  says  is 
near  a  water-fall  which  falls  over  a  cliff  about  2,000  feet 
high.  In  Killisnoo  we  had  heard  of  such  a  water-fall  be 
ing  at  the  head  of  Chieke  Bay,  so  this  was  our  excuse  for 
going  there.  We  found  the  water-fall  to  be  grand  and 
near  it  we  pitched  our  tent.  Then  we  began  prospecting 
for  the  gold  that  never  was  there. 

Here  is  where  the  bait  we  brought  along  proved  a  win 
ner,  for  Charlie  Hubbard  liked  the  bait  and  put  in  most 
of  his  time  in  our  camp.  He  thought  our  Canadian  rye 
was  fine.  At  first  he  had  to  pay  for  it,  same  as  other  In 
dians,  but  when  he  became  one  of  our  family,  it  was  free 
to  him. 

14 


210  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

In  selling  whisky  to  the  Chieke  Indians,  we  stirred  up 
a  hornet's  nest.  One  night  a  crowd  of  drunken  bucks 
made  a  raid  on  our  camp  and  tried  to  force  us  to  sell  them 
more  whisky.  We  had  to  stand  them  off  with  firearms, 
and  Sayles  and  I  had  to  sit  up  all  night,  as  they  were  out 
in  the  brush  around  our  camp  singing  weird  songs  and 
howling  like  coyotes.  The  next  day  the  chief  of  the  tribe 
gave  us  orders  to  sell  no  more  liquor  to  his  people,  as 
some  of  them  had  nearly  beaten  their  wives  to  death 
during  the  night.  We  promised,  of  course,  for  we  were 
ready  to  quit,  as  our  reputation  as  whisky  peddlers  was 
established.  Besides,  we  needed  what  whisky  there  was 
left  as  bait  for  Hubbard  to  keep  him  in  our  camp. 

Days  ran  into  weeks,  and  while  Sayles  and  I  were  out 
hunting  for  the  "Lost  Rocker"  mine,  we  would  come 
back  to  camp  and  find  Hubbard  and  a  warm  supper.  Hub- 
bard  knew  where  the  whisky  was  cached  out  in  the 
timber,  therefore  he  helped  himself  during  our  absence. 
He  had  a  small  canoe  of  his  own,  and  he  could  go  and 
come  to  and  from  Chieke  at  his  pleasure. 

Sayles  and  I  were  always  testing  rock  for  gold.  We 
were  both  posted  on  assaying,  and  we  talked  a  good 
deal  on  that  subject. 

Finally,  Hubbard  asked  us  the  best  treatment  for  chlori- 
nation  gold.  We  told  him,  and  now  we  were  satisfied 
that  we  were  on  the  right  trail,  for  the  $10,000  worth  of 
gold  stolen  from  the  Treadwell  mill  was  chlorination 
gold  taken  from  the  bottom  of  a  tank. 

One  evening  Hubbard  came  from  a  visit  to  Schell  in 
Chieke,  where  no  doubt  they  had  both  talked  matters  over, 
and  confessed  that  they  had  stolen  $10,000  worth  of  gold 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  211 

from  the  Treadwell,  and  he  offered  us  $400  to  melt  it  into 
pure  gold  for  them.  Of  course  we  had  to  swear  secrecy. 
We  explained  that  it  would  be  necessary  to  expend  some 
cash  for  material  to  build  a  furnace  to  treat  the  gold. 

That  same  night  after  the  sun  went  down  about  10 
o'clock,  Hubbard  took  me  and  a  quart  bottle  of  rye-juice 
to  where  they  had  the  gold  cached.  It  was  across  Chieke 
Bay  from  the  Indian  village,  three  miles,  and  about  four 
miles  from  our  camp.  On  arriving  at  the  place,  Hubbard 
dug  up  a  frying  pan,  the  inside  of  which  was  coated  with 
at  least  $200  worth  of  gold.  This  was  as  far  as  he  and 
Schell  had  got  with  their  treatment.  They  succeeded  in 
melting  the  stuff,  but  on  trying  to  pour  it  into  a  mold  to 
make  a  brick,  it  would  cool  and  stick  to  the  frying-pan. 
He  also  showed  me  their  bellows,  made  of  a  cracker-box 
and  a  rain-coat.  They  had  used  bark  for  the  fire.  He 
designated  the  place  where  the  rest  of  the  gold  was 
cached,  but  wouldn't  tell  me  the  exact  spot,  nor  did  I 
press  him  to  know. 

We  got  back  to  camp  about  2  a.  m.  and  woke  Sayles  up 
to  get  a  drink  out  of  his  bottle,  which  was  kept  under  his 
head,  as  ours  was  empty. 

Hubbard  and  I  were  soon  in  the  "Land  of  Nod,"  and 
my  dreams  had  a  gold  lining,  as  I  felt  sure  we  were  on 
the  road  to  final  success. 

For  several  days  following,  we  three  discussed  the  sub 
ject  of  melting  the  stolen  gold. 

I  had  previously  told  Hubbard  of  scrapes  which  I  had 
been  into  down  in  Texas  and  New  Mexico,  and  how  of 
ficers  of  the  law  had  chased  me  out  of  that  country. 
Therefore,  he  seemed  to  place  confidence  in  me. 


212  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

It  was  agreed  that  I  go  alone  to  Juneau  and  secure  ma 
terial  to  build  a  furnace,  and  the  chemicals  and  crucibles 
for  melting  the  gold. 

Leaving  Sayles  in  camp  with  Hubbard,  I  started  in  a 
canoe  with  an  Indian,  whom  I  had  hired  to  take  me  to 
Killisnoo,  a  distance  of  twenty  miles.  Arriving  in  Killis- 
noo,  I  put  up  with  the  superintendent  of  the  big  fishery 
there.  He  kept  a  boarding  house  for  the  hired  white  men. 
The  place  was  nothing  but  an  Indian  village.  The  passen 
ger  steamers,  the  Topeka  and  Queen,  made  weekly  trips 
between  Sitka  and  Juneau,  and  next  day  I  caught  the 
Queen  for  Juneau. 

At  Superintendent  Durkin's  residence  on  Douglas  Is 
land,  I  met  Mr.  Bordus  and  Durkin  and,  told  them  of  our 
plans. 

After  securing  some  clay  to  make  a  furnace,  and  mate 
rial  to  melt  the  gold,  I  returned  on  the  Topeka  to  Killis 
noo.  Before  leaving,  I  arranged  for  Deputy  United  States 
Marshal  Collins  to  be  on  board  a  United  States  man-of- 
war  which  was  spending  the  summer  at  Killisnoo,  on  a 
certain  day  two  weeks  later,  so  that  he  could  help  us  make 
the  arrests,  for  fear  the  Indians  might  assist  the  prison 
ers. 

Next  day  after  my  arrival  in  Killisnoo  I  hired  an  In 
dian  to  take  me  and  my  freight  to  Chieke.  He  had  his 
family  with  him  in  the  canoe,  and  in  order  to  buy  some 
food  for  his  family  he  requested  that  I  pay  in  advance. 
This  I  did,  but  whisky  was  bought  with  the  money.  By 
the  time  we  were  ready  to  start  there  were  several  drunk 
en  Indians,  and  they  had  a  regular  "Kilkenny"  fight  in 
the  sand  on  the  beach,  the  women  folks  joining  in.  After 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  213 

the  "scrap"  there  was  hair  enough  on  the  ground  to  make 
a  nice  hair-bridle,  but  not  a  drop  of  blood  in  sight. 

On  starting  we  found  the  canoe  loaded  to  the  guards. 
Besides  the  freight,  there  were  three  Indian  women,  two 
bucks  and  one  sixteen-year-old  girl,  besides  myself.  The 
girl  and  I  sat  in  the  stern,  she  steering  the  canoe.  The 
wind  was  in  the  right  direction,  so  that  the  sail  could  be 
used.  The  Indians  kept  passing  the  jug  of  whisky 
around,  against  my  protest. 

When  out  on  the  big  strait,  a  storm  blew  up  from  the 
shore  and  the  water  became  rough.  One  unruly  Indian 
man  wanted  to  steer  the  canoe  and  the  others  were  trying 
to  hold  him.  In  doing  so,  they  came  very  near  turning  the 
canoe  over.  I  became  desperate  and  knocked  the  unruly 
fellow  down  on  his  back  in  the  bottom  of  the  canoe.  I 
then  pulled  "old  Colt's  45"  and  threatened  to  kill  the  first 
Indian  who  got  up  on  his  feet.  Then  the  women,  includ 
ing  the  girl,  began  crying.  The  girl  was  afraid  to  sit 
with  me,  so  she  joined  her  mother  and  they  sat  down  on 
the  unruly  buck  so  he  couldn't  get  up.  Soon  he  fell 
asleep.  We  landed  at  our  camp  about  sundown,  and  on 
unloading  the  grub  and  other  stuff  brought  along,  I  dis 
missed  the  Indians  and  they  started  to  Chieke. 

I  then  walked  up  to  camp  100  yards  from  the  shore  and 
found  Sayles  cooking  supper  and  Hubbard  sitting  by  the 
fire.  I  could  see  that  something  was  wrong,  but  pre 
tended  not  to  notice  it. 

The  camp-fire  was  outside  and  Sayles  stepped  into  the 
tent  to  get  something  and  while  in  there  he  wrote  on  a 
scrap  of  paper,  "It's  all  off.  They  are  suspicious  of  us 
and  say  they  won't  dig  up  the  gold."  This  was  slipped 


214  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

into  my  hand  the  first  opportunity.  Later  I  read  it  in  the 
tent,  but  I  continued  to  look  cheerful  against  my  will. 
There  are  times  when  a  detective  earns  his  salary,  deep 
down  where  the  public  can't  see. 

By  the  time  supper  was  over  it  was  dusk.  I  then  asked 
if  the  kiln  of  charcoal  which  I  had  helped  start  before 
leaving  for  Juneau  had  been  burnt,  as  though  I  knew 
nothing  about  the  deal  being  off.  Hubbard  spoke  up  and 
said:  "No,  Lee  (I  was  then  going  by  the  name  of  Lee 
R.  David),  the  fire  has  gone  out  and  we  haven't  started  it 
up  again."  As  though  surprised  I  asked  the  reason.  Hub- 
bard  replied :  "Let's  walk  up  there,  Lee,  I  want  to  talk 
to  you." 

We  then  started  up  the  heavily  timbered  gulch  for  the 
charcoal  kiln,  a  distance  of  several  hundred  yards.  Noth 
ing  was  said  on  the  question  at  issue  until  we  reached 
there.  Then  Hubbard  straightened  up  to  his  full  height, 
six  feet  one  inch,  and  facing  me  said :  "Lee,  that  partner 
of  yours  is  a  d d  policeman  and  Schell  and  I  have  con 
cluded  not  to  dig  up  that  gold  now." 

I  asked  in  surprise,  what  he  meant  by  a  policeman.  He 
replied :  "I  mean  he  is  a  fly-cop — a  detective."  I  said : 

"D d  if  that  ain't  news  to  me.  If  I  thought  he  was  I 

wouldn't  sleep  until  I  had  him  anchored  out  in  a  deep 
place  in  the  bay  where  no  one  would  ever  find  him,  for 
he  knows  things  about  me  that  would  put  me  in  the  pen 
the  rest  of  my  natural  life." 

Then  Hubbard  asked:  "How  long  have  you  known 
Sayles?"  I  replied  that  I  had  never  met  him  until  a 
few  months  previous,  in  Juneau,  when  an  old  Arizona 
friend  of  mine  introduced  us;  that  this  friend  lived 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  215 

in  Juneau  and  knew  all  about  my  past  history;  that  he 
knew  enough  to  send  me  to  the  pen,  and  that  I  knew  suf 
ficient  to  hang  him,  and  that  he  assured  me  Sayles  could 
be  trusted  even  with  my  life,  as  he  had  seen  him  tested 
when  they  were  partners  in  the  smuggling  business  be 
tween  Canada  and  Montana.  I  assured  Hubbard  that  if 
he  was  a  detective  my  friend  didn't  know  it,  but  that  he 
may  have  turned  to  be  a  detective  since  my  friend  and  he 
separated  a  few  years  previous,  and  if  he  had,  I  wanted  to 
know  it.  So  I  asked  Hubbard  on  what  grounds  his  sus 
picions  were  based.  He  answered:  "D n  him,  he 

just  looks  like  a  policeman,  and  he  has  traveled  over  the 
world  too  much.  He  has  told  me  all  about  his  travels." 
I  laughed  outright  and  told  Hubbard  that  he  was  foolish 
for  getting  suspicious  on  those  grounds,  and  that  I  felt 
relieved,  as  I  supposed  that  he  had  discovered  good 
grounds  for  his  suspicions. 

I  then  told  Hubbard  how  my  friend  had  met  Sayles  in 
Canada  on  the  line  of  Montana,  at  a  time  when  Sayles' 
wealthy  relatives  in  the  old  country  had  quit  furnishing, 
him  any  more  money,  as  he  was  wild  and  reckless ;  that 
then  Sayles  joined  my  friend  in  the  smuggling  business 
and  that  they  turned  a  few  other  tricks  besides  smuggling. 

I  told  Hubbard  that  unless  he  felt  perfectly  safe  that  I 
would  advise  him  to  let  the  gold  stay  where  it  was ;  that, 
of  course,  it  would  hurt  me  a  little,  as  I  had  spent  some 
money  on  the  trip,  on  the  strength  of  the  $400  they  were 
to  give  us  for  melting  the  stuff. 

After  studying  a  moment  with  his  head  down,  Hubbard 
grabbed  my  hand  and  shook  it,  saying:  "Lee,  I  never 
doubted  you  for  a  minute.  We  will  call  the  deal  on  again 


216  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

and  go  ahead;  but  I  am  only  going-  to  bring  about  one- 
fourth  of  the  stuff  at  a  time.  When  we  melt  the  first 
batch  you  can  take  $100  worth  out  for  your  part.  Then 
I  will  cache  my  part  and  bring  in  more ;  then  there  won't 
be  any  danger  of  us  losing  it  all  if  he  is  a  policeman." 
This  I  told  him  would  suit  Sayles  and  me. 

We  then  returned  to  camp  and  had  a  round  of 
drinks,  and  I  told  Sayles  to  bring  some  fire  on  the 
shovel  and  we  would  start  up  the  charcoal  kiln  so  it 
would  be  ready  by  the  time  the  furnace  was  finished. 
Sayles  wore  a  satisfied  smile  the  balance  of  the  evening. 
We  all  three  went  back  and  started  up  the  kiln  in  good 
shape. 

How  quickly  dark,  threatening  clouds  can  be  banished 
with  the  proper  use  of  "soft  soap"  or  "taffy";  in  other 
words,  good  hard  innocent  lying. 

Next  day  after  Hubbard  had  returned  from  an  in 
terview  with  Schell,  we  selected  a  place  for  the  furnace 
and  started  to  build  it.  The  site  chosen  was  in  a  grove 
of  timber  on  a  knoll,  about  200  yards  from  our  camp, 
a  place  where  no  one  would  ever  think  of  visiting.  Say 
les  bossed  the  job  of  building  the  furnace,  as  he  took 
a  great  interest  in  such  matters.  Hubbard  and  I  played 
the  part  of  hod-carriers,  though  we  held  no  card  in  any 
Union ;  consequently  we  were  "scabbing." 

When  the  furnace  was  completed,  we  figured  it  would 
require  several  days  to  dry,  so  as  to  be  fit  for  use,  and 
during  this  time  I  concluded  to  visit  Killisnoo  and  buy 
a  few  luxuries  as  well  as  a  bottle  of  Carter's  Little  Liver 
Pills,  as  I  pretended  to  need  some  medicine. 

I  went  to  Killisnoo  in  a  canoe,  and  on  arrival  there 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  217 

consulted  with  Deputy  United  States  Marshal  Collins 
on  board  the  man-of-war.  I  set  a  day  when  we  would 
aim  to  have  the  first  batch  of  gold  melted.  On  that 
day  it  was  agreed  that  Collins  be  at  the  extreme  head 
of  Hoods  Bay  and  camp  on  the  south  side  in  the 
open,  so  that  we  could  find  him.  I  described  the  place 
that  he  should  camp  at.  Before  finding  Hubbard  and 
Schell,  Sayles  and  I  had  been  to  the  head  of  Hoods 
Bay.  We  knew  by  the  maps  and  the  lay  of  the  country 
that  the  heads  of  Hoods  Bay  and  Chieke  Bay  were  only 
about  five  miles  apart,  and  my  aim  was  to  travel  this 
five  miles  afoot  after  Collins,  when  matters  were  ripe 
for  arrest. 

I  then  returned  to  camp  and  found  the  furnace  and 
charcoal  ready  for  business. 

One  night  after  dark,  Hubbard  brought  in  what  he 
thought  was  about  a  fourth  of  the  gold.  It  looked  just 
like  black  mud  and  was  very  heavy.  Next  day  we  made 
experiments  and  melted  some  of  the  stuff  into  fine  gold 
nuggets.  This  was  the  day  Collins  was  to  go  to  the  head 
of  Hoods  Bay  and  remain  there  until  one  of  us  came. 
The  day  following,  the  furnace  was  kept  going,  and 
some  nice  nuggets  were  turned  out.  Hubbard  worked 
hard,  as  he  was  anxious  to  get  this  batch  finished  so 
that  he  could  get  the  nuggets  cached  in  a  safe  place. 
But  Sayles  and  I  had  agreed  that  we  wouldn't  quite  finish 
the  batch,  so  we  worked  with  that  end  in  view,  although 
we  had  not  planned  a  mode  of  action.  That  was  left 
to  my  two  by  four  brain,  to  act  whenever  I  got  a  "hunch" 
that  the  time  was  ripe.  The  main  point  was  not  to  let 
Hubbard  recache  this  gold. 


218  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Towards  sundown  I  had  a  fine  supper  cooking, — clam 
chowder  and  pies.  I  went  out  to  see  how  the  boys  were 
getting  along.  Hubbard  was  sweating  like  a  "Nigger" 
at  election,  in  his  haste  to  finish  the  batch  before  supper 
time  While  I  was  out  there  we  weighed  the  nuggets 
and  made  an  estimate  of  the  value  of  the  gold,  including 
that  just  put  into  the  crucibles  to  melt.  This  would  make 
$1,900  worth.  Here  I  went  back  to  see  that  my  clam 
chowder  wasn't  burning.  I  knew  how  long  it  would  take 
to  melt  the  stuff  now  in  the  furnace,  so  I  regulated  the 
cooking  accordingly. 

Hubbard  and  I  slept  together  on  one  side  of  the  tent, 
while  Sayles  slept  on  the  other.  Hubbard  kept  his  rifle 
under  the  head  of  our  bed,  buried  out  of  sight  in  the 
grass  which  we  slept  on.  I  secured  this  rifle  and  was 
looking  for  a  safe  place  to  hide  it.  Near  the  camp  there 
was  a  deep  hole  of  water  not  less  than  ten  feet  deep. 
All  of  a  sudden  I  got  a  "hunch"  that  this  would  be 
a  good  place  to  hide  it,  so  out  the  rifle  went  in  the 
pool,  which  was  quite  wide,  and  no  doubt  it  is  there 
yet,  as  we  never  looked  for  it.  Then  I  cached  my  Win 
chester  rifle,  so  I  could  get  it  without  Hubbard  seeing 
me. 

Now  supper  was  ready,  and  I  began  to  call  the  boys, 
Ten  minutes  passed  and  they  didn't  come.  I  called  with 
an  oath  attached,  to  let  them  know  I  was  getting  angry. 
After  another  minute's  wait  I  ran  out  to  where  they 
were  at  work.  They  had  just  emptied  the  crucibles  and 
Hubbard  was  insisting  that  they  fill  them  up  with  the 
last  "mud"  on  hand,  as  he  would  rather  finish  than  go 
to  supper.  As  he  had  agreed  to  stay  and  keep  the  fur- 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  219 

race  hot,  Sayles  had  to  give  in,  as  he  had  no  excuse. 
So  I  found  them  preparing  to  put  the  last  "mud"  in 
the  crucibles.  I  began  swearing  and  said  my  nice  sup 
per  was  getting  cold.  Hubbard  began  to  make  his  talk 
about  finishing,  but  I  told  him  that  there  would  be  an 
other  day,  to-morrow,  to  work  in,  and  so  saying,  I 
grabbed  the  crucibles  and  "mud"  and  cached  it  behind 
a  log  near  by.  I  then  picked  up  the  can  containing  the 
nuggets  and  started  out  in  the  brush  to  cache  them. 
Hubbard  followed  me  and  helped  dig  a  hole  in  the 
moss  by  the  side  of  a  log,  where  the  can  was  deposited. 
This  was  quite  a  distance  from  the  furnace,  so  that 
Sayles  couldn't  see  us. 

We  then  went  to  supper.  Hubbard  didn't  feel  good 
until  after  we  had  taken  a  couple  of  appetizers  before 
sitting  down  to  the  nice  meal. 

My  supper  didn't  agree  with  me,  for  I  began  to  have 
cramps  in  my  stomach  an  hour  afterwards;  this,  of 
course,  being  a  blind.  I  went  to  bed  the  same  time  Hub 
bard  and  Sayles  did,  but  I  couldn't  sleep.  In  the  course 
of  an  hour  or  more,  when  I  thought  Hubbard  was 
asleep,  I  got  up  and  put  on  my  boots  and  clothes,  but 
Hubbard  was  awake  and  asked  where  I  was  going.  I 
told  him  I  was  going  to  make  a  hot  toddy  and  see  if 
it  wouldn't  help  my  stomach-ache.  After  putting  on 
water  to  heat,  I  made  the  toddy  and  went  back  to  bed. 
Another  hour  passed  and  I  got  up  again  to  make  an 
other  toddy.  This  time  Hubbard  was  asleep.  Still,  the 
toddy  was  made  and  I  sat  by  the  fire  awhile.  Finally, 
with  my  Winchester  on  my  shoulder  I  slipped  through 
the  brush  to  where  the  gold  was  cached.  Securing  the 


220  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

nuggets  and  the  balance  of  the  "mud,"  I  struck  out 
for  the  northeast  through  the  timber.  Half  a  mile  from 
camp  I  recached  the  gold,  then  continued  up  an  open 
glade  covered  with  skunk-cabbage,  on  which  the  hun 
dreds  of  bears  feed.  Sayles  and  I  had  been  to  the  head 
of  this  open  glade  where  tfye  heavy  timber  and  under 
brush  started  in  again.  From  the  head  of  this  glade 
over  to  Hoods  Bay,  was  an  unexplored  territory  to  me. 

By  this  time  it  was  quite  dark.  I  could  see  the  bears 
running  into  the  timber  at  the  head  of  the  glade,  just 
where  I  had  to  go.  This  made  me  feel  a  little  ticklish, 
as  I  had  heard  it  said  that  Alaska  bears  were  danger 
ous  when  they  had  young  ones,  or  if  surprised  by  a 
person  coming  on  to  them  suddenly. 

Since  pitching  our  tent  here  on  Chieke  Bay,  one  night 
a  large  bear  stuck  his  head  under  our  tent  and  grunted 
as  though  something  was  hurting  him.  Sayles  and  I 
woke  up  at  the  same  time.  While  I  was  figuring 
whether  to  shoot  Mr.  Bear  or  invite  him  to  walk  in, 
Sayles  gave  a  yell  that  caused  the  poor  bear  to  nearly 
break  his  neck  getting  away  We  could  hear  the  brush 
cracking  for  half  a  mile. 

At  this  time  of  year  these  bears  were  unfit  for  use. 
They  were  poor  in  flesh  and  their  fur  was  no  good. 
Their  habit  was  to  come  to  the  coast  from  the  high 
mountain  range  in  the  center  of  this  large  island,  and 
live  on  skunk-cabbage  and  berries  until  the  salmon  be 
gan  to  "run"  up  the  fresh  water  streams.  Then  Mr. 
Bear  would  get  fat  on  fish  and  return  to  his  winter 
quarters  in  the  high  mountains. 

From  the  head  of  the  glade  I  found  it  hard  navigating, 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  221 

owing  to  the  fallen  timber  and  "devil-clubs," — a  tough 
briar  bush  with  thorns  like  an  eagle  claw,  which  is  poison 
to  the  flesh.  They  take  hold  of  one's  clothes  and  hang 
on  like  grim  death  to  a  dead  "Nigger."  I  had  to  fol 
low  the  bear  trails.  Often  I  had  to  crawl  on  my  hands 
and  knees  for  a  hundred  feet  or  more,  under  fallen  tim 
ber.  During  all  this  time  I  would  whistle  or  sing  to 
scare  the  bears  out  of  my  path.  Judging  from  the  sound 
of  the  brush  cracking  ahead  and  up  the  sides  of  the 
mountains,  there  were  a  great  many  of  them. 

On  top  of  the  mountain  range  I  came  to  a  lake.  There 
were  no  bear  trails  around  it,  and  to  go  through  the 
brush  was  too  slow  and  tiresome,  so  I  waded  around  the 
edge  of  the  timber  in  the  lake,  up  to  my  waist  in  water. 
Reaching  the  opposite  side  of  the  lake  I  found  myself 
going  down  a  creek,  and  by  keeping  in  the  middle  of 
it  half-knee  deep  in  water,  I  could  make  pretty  good 
time.  In  going  down  this  creek  I  couldn't  resist  the 
temptation  of  firing  my  pistol  twice,  once  to  kill  a  large 
dog  salmon,  and  the  other,  at  a  large  bald  eagle.  I  cut 
the  eagle's  claws  off  as  relics. 

It  was  after  daylight  when  I  woke  up  Deputy  United 
States  Marshal  Collins  in  his  tent.  While  he  was  dress 
ing  I  made  some  coffee.  Before  starting,  he  gave  orders 
to  the  two  Indians  to  take  his  camp  outfit  back  to  Kill- 
isnoo. 

We  returned  the  way  I  had  come. 

On  reaching  the  top  of  a  high  hill  overlooking  our 
camp,  we  saw  Sayles  and  Hubbard  getting  breakfast. 
We  slipped  down  through  the  brush  and  reached  the 
tent  on  the  opposite  side  from  the  camp  fire.  Stepping 


222  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

around  the  tent  we  advanced  towards  Hubbard.  Col 
lins  pointed  his  pistol  at  him  and  demanded  that  he 
throw  up  his  hands,  as  he  was  a  prisoner.  I  had  cau 
tioned  Collins  not  to  shoot  Hubbard  under  any  condition, 
unless  he  should  break  to  run  or  pull  a  gun.  I  explained 
that  he  had  no  gun  as  I  had  thrown  it  in  the  water- 
hole. 

I  was  standing  still,  smiling,  with  the  butt  of  my  rifle 
resting  on  the  ground.  Hubbard  paid  no  attention  to 
Collins'  demand,  but  straightening  himself  up  to  his  full 
height,  with  both  thumbs  under  his  suspenders,  he  walked 
up  to  me  and  looking  me  square  in  the  face  said :  "Davis, 
how  in  h — 1  can  you  ever  face  the  public  again,  after 
the  way  you  have  treated  me?"  I  laughed  and  told  him 
that  my  business  was  mostly  with  individuals,  not  the 
public,  hence  my  conscience  wouldn't  bother  me  on  that 
score. 

Poor  W.  Roxward  Sayles  felt  relieved.  Hubbard  had 
gone  out  when  they  found  me  missing,  and  discovered 
the  gold  gone.  Then  he  raised  h — 1  with  Sayles  who 
assured  him  that  I  would  be  back  soon;  that  I  might 
have  heard  Indians  prowling  around  while  sick  and  sit 
ting  by  the  fire,  and  had  recached  the  gold  to  keep  them 
from  finding  it.  Hubbard  had  then  searched  for  my 
tracks  on  the  beach,  but  failed  to  find  any.  Both  canoes 
were  on  the  beach,  so  he  was  satisfied  I  would  return. 

The  matter  wound  up  by  Hubbard  and  Schell  being 
taken  back  to  Juneau  in  the  Lucy,  a  steam  launch.  The 
Deputy  Marshal,  Sayles,  and  myself  accompanied  them. 
Arriving  in  Juneau,  Mr.  Schell  was  put  in  jail,  while 
Hubbard  remained  in  my  company.  He  had  given  me 


223 

his  word  that  he  wouldn't  attempt  to  escape.  I  believed 
him,  my  object  being  to  "job"  him  by  having  him  make 
a  written  confession  of  the  theft,  so  that  Sayles  and  I 
wouldn't  have  to  stay  there  as  witnesses  until  court  sat 
late  in  the  fall. 

For  a  week  Hubbard  went  everywhere  that  I  did, 
free  from  handcuffs.  We  slept  together  over  in  my  cabin 
on  Douglas  Island,  Sayles  remaining  in  Juneau. 

After  Hubbard  had  confessed  the  robbery  and  agreed 
to  testify  to  the  theft  in  court,  I  had  to  turn  the  poor 
fellow  over  to  the  jailor  to  be  locked  up.  This  hurt  me 
worse  than  it  did  him,  but  I  made  arrangements  for  him 
to  receive  better  treatment  than  the  other  prisoners  were 
getting. 

This  ended  our  work.  The  company  got  back  their 
$10,000  worth  of  black  "mud,"  as  it  had  all  been  found 
and  dug  up  where  Schell  and  Hubbard  had  cached  it. 
The  gold-plated  frying  pan  was  also  taken  along,  as  it 
was  worth  a  few  hundred  dollars,  there  being  that  much 
gold  sticking  to  it. 

When  the  United  States  Court  convened  late  in  the 
fall,  Hubbard  and  Schell  were  sent  to  the  penitentiary. 
Hubbard  received  a  sentence  of  only  one  year  in  the 
Sitka  Pen.  Schell  received  a  longer  sentence,  so  I  heard. 

During  his  stay  in  the  Sitka  Pen,  Hubbard  used  to 
correspond  with  Sayles  and  me  regularly.  The  last  let 
ter  received  was  after  his  sentence  had  expired,  and 
while  he  was  preparing  to  start  for  the  Dawson  City 
gold  diggings  to  make  his  fortune.  We  only  hope  that 
he  has  become  rich,  for  the  world  is  full  of  worse  men 
than  Charlie  Hubbard.  Whiskey  was  the  cause  of  his 
downfall. 


224  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

After  serving  his  term  out,  Schell  became  a  desperado. 
Last  account  I  had  of  him  through  the  newspapers,  was 
where  he  and  a  gang  had  killed  a  Deputy  United  States 
Marshal,  and  I  believe  one  or  two  other  men,  and  were 
in  a  stronghold  not  far  from  Juneau,  standing  off  an 
army  of  men.  The  papers  stated  that  the  outlaws 
couldn't  escape,  as  they  were  surrounded,  but  I  never 
learned  how  the  fight  came  out.  The  chances  are,  Schell 
was  caught  and  is  now  serving  a  life  sentence,  if  not 
dead. 

While  in  Juneau  one  day,  I  ran  on  to  my  old  friend 
and  boss,  W.  C.  Moore,  with  whom  I  had  worked  for 
three  long  years  on  the  L  X  ranch  in  Texas,  when  a 
cowboy.  While  chasing  the  "Almighty  Dollar"  in  the 
American  Valley  in  western  New  Mexico  in  the  early 
'8o's,  he  murdered  two  men  and  became  an  outlaw, 
with  a  big  reward  on  his  head.  I  was  not  surprised  to 
see  him  in  Juneau,  as  a  cowboy  friend  had  written  me 
that  he  was  in  Alaska,  and  gave  me  the  name  under 
which  he  was  going.  I  had  also  read  a  letter  once,  writ 
ten  by  himself,  under  this  same  assumed  name,  to  Mr. 
W.  L.  Dickenson.  In  this  letter  he  told  of  being  camped 
with  the  noted  Tascott,  the  murderer  of  Millionaire 
Snell,  of  Chicago,  and  of  how  he  would  deliver  him 
over  to  the  authorities  for  part  of  the  fifty  thousand 
dollar  reward  which  had  been  offered  in  all  the  papers. 
Here  was  a  case  of  one  outlaw  trying  to  turn  up  an 
other  bad  man  for  money. 

Even  had  I  not  known  the  name  under  which  Moore 
was  sheltered,  I  would  have  known  his  poor  handwrit 
ing  and  bad  spelling. 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  225 

In  connection  with  the  Moore  letter,  I  learned  a  new 
lesson  in  high  finance,  to  the  effect  that  the  fifty  thou 
sand  big  silver  "plunks"  offered  for  Tascott's  arrest, 
was  a  fake,  the  truth  being  that  he  was  not  wanted, 
owing  to  the  fear  of  a  scandal  in  high  life. 

I  had  poor  Bill  Moore  Badly  frightened,  although  I 
had  no  intention  of  having  him  arrested.  He  wouldn't 
recognize  me  or  acknowledge  that  he  was  Moore,  and 
as  soon  as  I  left  him  he  pulled  out  for  "tall  timber." 
Friends  told  me  that  he  was  known  as  a  trapper,  and 
only  came  into  Juneau  about  once  a  year.  Therefore, 
he  must  be  living  a  "hell  on  earth,"  which  should  be  a 
warning  to  others  not  to  commit  murder  for  the  sake  of 
the  "Almighty  Dollar." 

No  doubt,  I  had  previously  been  pointed  out  to  Moore 
as  Lee  Roy  Davis,  the  Dickenson  detective  who  helped 
capture  Hubbard  and  Schell.  The  local  papers  had  been 
full  of  news  about  the  great  detectives,  Sayles  and  Davis, 
who  recovered  the  stolen  gold. 

After  receiving  the  blessings  of  Mr.  Durkin  and  Mr. 
Bordus,  for  getting  back  their  black  "mud,"  Sayles  and 
I  boarded  the  steamer  Queen  for  Sitka,  so  as  to  take  in 
the  Capital  of  Alaska  before  returning  to  civilization. 

On  the  return  trip  from  Sitka,  we  visited  the  great 
Muirr  Glacier,  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  frozen  north. 

At  the  Muirr  Glacier  I  did  a  little  stunt  which  should 
forever  brand  me  as  a  fool. 

The  tourists  on  the  Queen  had  climbed  the  hill  and 
mounted  the  glacier.  Most  of  the  people  had  rented 
sticks  with  spikes  in  the  end  to  keep  from  slipping  on 
the  ice,  but  I  didn't,  as  I  regarded  them  a  foolish  fad 
to  make  one  look  like  a  "globe-trotter." 


226  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

We  finally  came  to  a  natural  ice  bridge  across  a  chasm 
hundreds  of  feet  deep  and  about  thirty  feet  wide.  The 
bridge  was  only  two  or  three  feet  wide  with  a  slippery 
surface. 

A  nice  looking  young  woman  bantered  some  of  the 
men  to  show  their  courage  by  crossing  this  bridge.  No 
one  responded.  Then  she  gathered  up  her  skirts  with 
the  independent  air  of  a  Boston  school  mar'm,  and  went 
across.  On  the  opposite  side  she  laughed,  and  dared 
one  of  us  men  to  come  across.  Instead  of  complying 
with  the  dare,  most  of  them  got  further  back  as  though 
the  mere  thought  of  crossing  the  chasm  gave  them  the 
shivers.  I  told  Sayles  that  if  some  one  else  didn't  go  I 
would,  as  women  are  not  built  for  holding  as  much 
courage  as  men,  and  for  that  reason,  I  couldn't  stand  to 
see  the  whole  male  population  of  the  world  disgraced 
by  one  little  woman. 

Finally  I  plucked  up  courage  and  started,  but  before 
getting  half  way  over  I  wished  to  be  back  on  the  start 
ing  side.  If  my  hair  didn't  stand  up  on  end,  it  surely 
felt  like  it.  I  dare  not  shut  my  eyes,  and  with  them 
open  I  could  see  too  far  below,  where  there  seemed  to 
be  no  bottom. 

On  reaching  the  lady's  side,  she  gave  me  the  "glad 
hand,"  which  helped  some,  but  it  didn't  relieve  the  strain 
on  my  mind  as  to  how  I  should  get  back,  for  I  was  on 
an  icy  island  with  chasms  all  around.  I  followed  the 
lady  back,  but  it  required  every  ounce  of  courage  in  me 
to  make  the  start.  Hereafter  when  a  foolish  girl  wants 
to  test  the  courage  of  men,  she  won't  get  me  for  a  tool, 
no  matter  if  she  is  a  "good-looker"  with  a  form  like  a 
"two-time  winner." 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  227 

I  enjoyed  the  trip  from  Alaska  immensely,  for  it  gave 
me  my  first  chance  to  study  nobility  at  close  range.  We 
had  on  board  a  Duke  from  Italy  and  a  Prince  from 
Germany.  The  Prince's  name  was  Bismarck,  he  being  #, 
nephew  of  the  "Heap  Big  Chief"  Bismarck,  ruler  of  the 
German  Empire. 

The  Italian  Duke  was  a  nice  sociable  gentleman  with 
sense  enough  not  to  be  a  Duke,  if  it  wasn't  for  the 
graft  there  was  in  it. 

But  with  the  other  rooster,  his  Royal  Princeship,  he 
didn't  have  a  thimbleful  of  brains.  He  wouldn't  speak 
to  anyone  on  the  boat  but  the  Captain,  and  he  wouldn't 
stoop  so  low  as  to  eat  with  the  common  herd.  He  got 
up  on  his  highhorse  once  because  I  called  him  partner. 
He  asked  the  Captain  what  that  "bloody  American" 
meant  by  calling  him  partner.  He  had  taken  the  wrong 
route  to  see  an  Indian  village,  when  I  called  and  said: 
"Say,  partner,  you  are  on  the  wrong  road."  His  Royal 
'Iness  was  on  a  trip  around  the  world. 

One  jolly  soul  on  the  Queen  was  a  Mrs.  Lane,  the 
wife  of  Millionaire  Lane  of  Angels  Camp,  California. 
And  Dr.  Bean  and  his  lively  wife  of  Pocatello,  Idaho, 
were  passengers.  Also  Mr.  John  Brown,  of  Blackfoot, 
Idaho,  a  member  of  the  Idaho  Legislature.  In  fact, 
the  steamer  was  full  of  live,  jolly  passengers,  which  made 
the  week's  trip  a  pleasant  one. 

In  Portland,  Oregon,  Sayles  and  I  laid  over  a  day 
to  visit  with  Supt.  Wooster,  Capt.  Jas.  Bivens,  Mr.  D.  G. 
Doogan,  and  Philip  Berne,  of  the  Dickenson  Agency. 
We  then  boarded  a  train  for  Denver,  and  en  route  home 
I  found  a  Dutchman  who  had  a  wonderful  memory  for 
faces  and  the  human  voice. 


228  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Sayles  and  I  had  got  off  the  train  to  get  a  cup  of  coffee 
in  a  lunch  room.  The  place  was  crowded.  When  I 
asked  for  the  coffee,  a  man  with  his  back  to  me  said: 
"Hello,  I  know  that  voice."  Then  turning  around  to 
face  me  he  said:  "Hello  partner,  don't  you  know  me?" 
I  replied  "No."  He  then  said:  "I'm  Dutchy,  the  fel 
low  who  put  up  the  turkeys  for  you  fellers  to  shoot  at, 
in  Tuscarora,  Nevada,  several  years  ago.  You  are  the 
feller  who  had  the  pretty  Colts  pistol." 

I  then  remembered  "Dutchy."  No  doubt  he  would 
make  a  good  sleuth,  providing  he  could  harden  his  con 
science  and  learn  to  look  wise  and  keep  his  mouth  shut 
at  the  proper  time. 

On  arriving  in  Denver,  Supt.  McCartney  gave  Sayles 
and  me  the  "glad  hand"  for  our  good  work  in  Alaska, 
and  the  operation  was  closed  after  an  absence  of  six 
months. 


CHAPTER  X 

CHASING  LEON  CARRIER  THROUGH  THE  REPUBLIC  OF 
MEXICO — RUNNING  DOWN  BAD  MEN  IN  ARIZONA — 
BIG  ORE  ROBBERY  ON  BULL  HILL — GOLDEN  FLEECE 
ORE  STEALING  CASE — HOBO  OPERATION — BIG  MINING 
SUIT  IN  ARIZONA — RUNNING  DOWN  BANKER'S  SON 
IN  BRITISH  COLUMBIA. 

My  next  big  case  was  chasing  Leon  Carrier,  a  noble 
son  of  a  noble  member  of  the  Canadian  Parliament,  from 
one  end  of  Old  Mexico  to  the  other. 

Carrier  had  stolen  thirty  carloads  of  merchandise  from 
the  Westerly  Pacific  Railroad  Company,  and  the  Dick- 
enson  Agency  was  employed  to  run  his  noble  "nibs" 
down. 

In  Mexico,  Carrier  changed  his  name  often. 

This  operation  afforded  me  a  chance  to  visit  my  friend, 
Daniel  Turner,  Supt.  of  the  Wells  Fargo  Express  Co. 
in  the  City  of  Mexico,  and  to  see  the  sights  of  that  ancient 
Capital  once  more. 

I  never  heard  what  they  did  with  Mr.  Carrier  on 
getting  him  back  to  Canada.  But  the  chances  are,  his 
noble  father  pjaid  the  bills  and  put  the  young  man  on 
the  stool  of  repentance. 

Soon  after  this,  Mr.  McCartney  sent  me  to  Arizona 
to  run  down  the  noted,  John  Zillman. 

The  big  insurance  companies  of  New  York  had  been 
trying  to  locate  John  Zillman  since  1879,  when  he  was 

229 


230  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

supposed  to  have  been  killed  and  buried,  in  Barbour 
County,  Kansas.  The  insurance  people  who  had  in 
sured  his  life  a  short  time  previous  to  1879  for  $75,000 
in  favor  of  his  wife,  had  what  they  thought  was  good 
proof  that  a  drunken  .cigar  maker  had  been  murdered 
and  buried  for  Zillman,  so  as  to  beat  the  companies  out 
of  the  insurance  money. 

Mrs.  Zillman,  backed  by  her  friend,  Levi  Baldwin, 
a  rich  cattleman,  had  sued  the  insurance  companies  in 
several  courts,  and  always  won  their  suit.  But  the  com 
panies  would  just  as  often  appeal  to  a  higher  court,  in 
hopes  of  finding  Zillman.  The  case  was  due  to  come  up 
in  court  again  soon,  and  the  insurance  people  felt  sure 
that  if  they  could  run  down  two  men,  Fletcher  Fair- 
child  and  Bill  Herendon,  one  of  them  would  prove  to 
be  the  much  wanted  Zillman. 

Supt.  McCartney  informed  me  that  all  I  had  to  work 
on,  was  the  fact  that  Bill  Herendon  was  a  desperado 
who  smuggled  between  Arizona  and  Old  Mexico,  and 
was  always  on  the  jump  to  avoid  arrest.  In  the  case 
of  Fletcher  Fairchild,  no  one  knew  where  he  was  living. 
The  last  account  had  of  him  was  a  year  previous,  when 
he  left  the  Levi  Baldwin  cattle  ranch  in  the  Datil  moun 
tains  of  western  New  Mexico,  riding  a  bob-tail  horse, 
and  headed  west  towards  Flagstaff,  Arizona. 

After  being  given  a  description  of  Zillman,  with  a 
photo  taken  when  he  was  a  young  man,  I  started. 

In  Holbrook,  A.  T.,  a  cattle  town  on  the  Atlantic  and 
Pacific  Ry.,  I  bought  a  horse  and  saddle,  and  later  an 
other  horse.  Then  followed  hard  rides  over  deserts 
and  mountains,  My  work  led  me  through  the  wildest 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  231 

parts  of  Arizona.  Part  of  the  time  I  was  in  the  Super 
stitious  Mountains  where  "Apache  Kid"  and  his  cut 
throat  band  of  Indians  were  in  hiding,  my  only  compan 
ions  being  the  two  saddle  ponies  and  "Phoenix,"  a  Scotch 
terrier  dog  stolen  for  me  in  the  territorial  capital.  The 
"chambermaid"  in  the  livery  stable  stole  this  high-toned 
dog  with  a  brass  collar,  because  he  needed  a  silver  dol 
lar  to  quench  his  thirst. 

Both  of  my  men  were  finally  run  down.  Bill  Heren- 
don  and  his  two  outlaw  chums  who  were  well  mounted 
gave  me  the  liveliest  chase.  They  were  arrested  in  the 
Salvation  Army  mountains  on  the  border  of  Old  Mexico. 
As  neither  man  proved  to  be  the  muchly  wanted  Hill- 
man,  "Phoenix"  and  I  boarded  a  train  for  Denver.  I  had 
been  on  the  operation  three  months,  and  used  the  name 
of  Lee  R.  Davis. 

My  next  Big  case  was  for  the  Spion  Gold  Mining  Co., 
of  Cripple  Creek,  Colorado.  I  built  a  cabin  on  top  of 
Bull  Hill  among  the  Western  Federation  dynamiters  and 
sweated  much  blood  for  fear  of  being  blown  up  at  night. 

A  Coeur  D'Alene  member  of  the  Miners  Union,  Oscar 
W.,  recognized  me  as  the  C.  Leon  Allison  of  Gem, 
Idaho.  He  had  figured  in  the  killing  of  Johnny  Knee- 
bone  and  had  fallen  heir  to  that  "scab"  blacksmith's 
pistol,  after  his  murder  at  Gem,  Idaho,  in  1894.  Oscar 
W.  promised  not  to  disclose  my  identity  to  the  dyna 
miters,  and  he  kept  his  word. 

My  several  months  hard  work  in  the  Cripple  Creek 
district  disclosed  a  big  steal  wherein  our  clients  J.  A. 
Hill,  Horace  Union,  Dr.  J.  T.  Remy  and  James  Cownors, 
had  lost  about  half  a  million  dollars  through  the  theft 


332  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

of  rich  gold  ore.  The  superintendent  of  their  mine, 
the  Pikes  Peak,  and  three  of  the  directors  In  the  Union 
Gold  Co.  were  in  the  steal.  I  had  to  appear  on  the  wit 
ness  stand  in  Colorado  Springs. 

My  next  operation  was  a  big  ore-stealing  case  for 
Geo.  Lakes,  D.  K.  See  and  Attorney  Dobbs  of  Denver. 
They  were  being  robbed  blind  in  their  Golden  Fleece 
mine  at  Lake  City,  Colorado,  though  their  superintend 
ent,  Mr.  Aker,  was  an  honest  man. 

My  work  disclosed  the  slickest  system  of  daylight 
robbery  that  was  ever  carried  on  in  a  civilized  country. 

I  became  one  of  the  thieves  after  taking  lessons  in  an 
assay  office  run  by  one  of  the  gang. 

W.  O.  Sayles  helped  me  wind  up  the  operation,  which 
lasted  a  couple  of  months.  In  the  eruption,  150  miners 
on  the  Golden  Fleece  lost  their  jobs.  Twenty  to  thirty 
thousand  dollars  worth  of  rich  ore  had  been  stolen  each 
month;  hence  the  clients  were  happy  over  the  stopping 
of  this  leak  in  their  fat  incomes. 

Here  another  tramp  hobo  job  fell  to  my  lot.  Mc 
Cartney  gave  me  $150  of  expense  money,  and  sent  me 
south  to  roundup  Tim  Corn,  the  afterwards  noted  stock 
detective  hung  in  Cheyenne,  Wyoming.  He  was  needed 
to  testify  in  court,  hence  I  was  instructed  to  finish  his 
bum  operation,  which  he  was  doing  for  private  parties. 

At  Coolidge,  New  Mexico,  I  found  Corn  early  one 
morning  with  a  tough  gang  of  hobos.  They  were  hold 
ing  a  council  of  war  as  to  how  they  were  all  going  to 
eat  on  the  quarter  of  a  dollar  which  one  of  them  had. 

Corn  had  lost  his  $100  expense  money  a  few  days 
previous,  gambling  in  Albuquerque,  hence  he  was  really 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  233 

"on  the  hog."  He  was  ashamed  to  wire  home  for  more 
expense  money  so  soon  after  leaving  Denver.  I  finally 
got  a  chance  to  slip  Tim  Corn  a  few  dollars  to  take  him 
to  Albuquerque,  from  whence  he  could  wire  for  more 
money. 

When  ready  to  start,  Corn  gave  a  brakeman  one  dol 
lar  to  take  him  to  Albuquerque.  It  was  a  cattle  train 
loaded  with  steers,  and  the  "brakey"  opened  the  trap 
door  on  top  of  the  car,  through  which  the  hay  is  put 
into  the  racks  which  hang  on  the  inside  of  the  car.  Horn 
being  a  big  six-footer  it  was  a  tight  squeeze  for  the 
"brakey"  to  shove  him  through  the  small  hole.  When 
inside,  the  trap  door  was  fastened  by  the  "brakey"  and 
poor  Horn  couldn't  get  out  if  he  wanted  to.  He  was 
a  Horn  among  horns,  as  he  had  to  lie  in  the  hay  rack 
above  the  clashing  steer  horns. 

Just  then  a  red  headed  hobo  came  and  sat  down  by 
me  on  the  depot  platform  and  said :  "Say,  Cully,  did  you 
see  de  'brakey'  shove  dat  tall  guy  in  wid  de  steers?"  I 
replied  "yes,"  as  he  had  seen  me  watching  the  proceed 
ing.  He  then  continued:  "Dat  guy  is  a  fly  cop  for  de 
Dickensons.  De  gang  was  goen  to  do  him  up  tonight 
and  get  his  big  gun  and  watch.  He  said  he  didn't  have 
no  rocks  (money),  but  I  bet  he  did.  If  he  didn't,  where 
did  he  get  dat  big  plunk  (silver  dollar),  dat  he  give  to 
de  'brakey?'" 

I  asked  the  hobo  how  he  knew  that  he  was  a  fly  cop. 
He  replied  that  the  fellow  had  made  a  confident  of  an 
old  Indian  scout  from  Arizona,  who  now  lived  on  a 
ranch  at  a  spring  near  Coolidge;  that  they  were  drink 
ing  together  in  the  saloon  the  night  previous,  and  that 


234  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

the  scout  haa  told  the  secret  to  the  barkeeper  who  gave 
it  out  to  his  friends  on  the  quiet.  Then  one  of  these 
friends  put  "de  gang  next."  I  was  worried  for  fear 
the  train  crew  might  know  the  secret  and  kill  Corn, 
but  my  hands  were  tied,  as  the  train  had  pulled  out,  so 
that  I  could  do  nothing  to  warn  him.  Had  the  train 
crew  killed  him,  he  would  have  avoided  the  trouble  of 
being  hung  in  disgrace.  Besides,  many  lives  which  he 
snuffed  out  for  pay,  while  acting  as  stock  detective  for 
the  cattlemen  of  Wyoming,  would  have  been  saved. 
He  told  me  of  killing  two  of  these  supposed  cattle 
thieves,  one  of  them  being  a  cowboy  named  Matt  Rash. 

I  never  think  of  Tim  Corn  but  that  his  bulky  form 
and  big  ears  loom  up  in  my  mind's  eye  as  he  was  be 
ing  shoved  into  the  roof  of  that  cattle  car. 

I  tramped  it  all  the  way  to  Los  Angeles,  California, 
and  back  through  Arizona  and  New  Mexico.  The  work 
was  being  done  for  the  S.  T.  &  G.  Ry.  Co.  On  this 
tramp  job  I  saw  enough  of  life  in  box  cars  and  under 
water  tanks  to  write  a  large  sized  book. 

In  Denver,  a  couple  of  months  later,  I  put  on  my  good 
clothes  and  was  transformed  from  a  hobo  to  a  city 
gentleman. 

I  was  finally  sent  to  Minas  Prietas,  a  large  mining 
camp  in  the  State  of  Sonora,  Old  Mexico.  Howell 
Lines,  who  was  a  third  owner  and  manager  of  five  gold 
mills  in  Minas  Prietas,  had  sent  to  the  Denver  Agency 
for  a  good  mining  detective  who  understood  the  Mexi 
can  language  and  customs,  to  run  down  $20,000  worth 
of  amalgam  which  had  disappeared  mysteriously  from 
one  of  his  gold  mills. 


TiM  CORN. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  235 

After  spending  over  a  month  in  Minas  Prietas,  eating 
fresh  oysters  on  the  half  shell  every  meal  at  the  Hotel 
Colorado,  and  enduring  the  heart-rending  cruelties  to 
the  poor  horses  and  mules  which  hauled  the  freight  and 
ore,  the  $20,000  worth  of  amalgam  was  found  where  it 
had  run  off  with  the  quicksilver  into  the  tailings  dump. 
Carelessness  on  the  part  of  employes  .had  caused  the  loss. 
It  was  recovered,  and  my  fun,  drinking  mescal  and  danc 
ing  with  pretty  Mexican  girls,  was  cut  off. 

While  on  this  operation,  I  had  made  one  trip  out  into 
the  wild  mountains  with  a  saloon  man  and  a  blacksmith, 
who  were  suspected  of  being  into  the  supposed  steal. 
We  went  to  examine  a  mining  prospect  which  the  black 
smith  owned.  Of  course,  we  took  along  a  good  supply 
of  mescal,  a  Mexican  liquor  which  makes  drunk  come 
quick,  for  snake  bites. 

I  also  made  one  trip  to  Guaymas,  a  seaport  city  on 
the  Gulf  of  California,  to  work  on  an  old  man  who  was 
suspected,  and  while  there,  I  came  within  a  hair's 
breadth  of  crossing  the  dark  river  of  death,  from  whence 
there  is  no  awakening.  Still,  our  old  mythical  devil 
would,  if  he  could,  have  awakened  me  to  scorch  my 
whiskers  for  hopping  around  on  the  face  of  the  earth 
and  sipping  more  than  my  share  of  the  honey  of  life 
between  hops. 

On  the  train,  en  route  to  Guaymas,  I  met  my  Bull  Hill 
friend,  Mr.  M.,  one  of  the  Union  Gold  Mining  Co.  di 
rectors,  who  had  been  mixed  up  in  that  big  ore-stealing 
case.  He  gave  me  his  hand  and  assured  me  that  he  held 
no  ill-will  against  me,  as  I  had  done  only  my  duty  and 
had  told  the  truth  on  the  witness  stand  in  Colorado 


236  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Springs.  He  was  accompanied  by  a  friend  whom  I  sus 
pected  of  being  mixed  up  in  this  same  steal,  though  I 
had  never  met  him  before.  Of  course,  he  knew  all  about 
me. 

On  arriving  in  Guaymas,  we  three  went  to  the  same 
hotel,  the  ALameda,  I  think  it  was  called. 

That  night  we  took  in  the  sights,  and  hired  an  Indian 
to  take  us  out  into  deep  water  in  the  Gulf,  so  we  could 
catch  barracuda,  a  large,  slender,  deep-water  fish.  We 
were  to  start  at  daylight  next  morning  in  a  small  sailboat. 
I  felt  that  it  might  be  a  "job"  on  the  part  of  M.  and  his 
companion  to  drown  me  in  revenge  for  the  part  I  had 
played  against  M.  in  the  Cripple  Creek  district. 

After  midnight  we  three  climbed  the  broad  stairs  to 
our  rooms,  which  fronted  on  an  open  court.  I  had  a 
separate  room  adjoining  my  two  companions,  and  Mr. 
M.  agreed  to  wake  me  at  daylight. 

In  going  to  bed  my  corduroy  pants  were  put  under 
the  pillow,  and  then  noticing  that  my  old  Colts  45  was 
lying  on  the  center  table,  I  placed  it  on  top  of  the  pants. 

Next  morning  while  the  room  was  still  dark,  a  loud 
rap  came  on  my  door.  I  jumped  up,  half  asleep,  and 
grabbing  the  legs  of  my  pants  which  hung  over  the  side 
of  the  bed,  with  the  intention  of  putting  them  on  be 
fore  going  to  the  door,  I  jerked  them  out  from  under 
the  pillow.  In  doing  so,  the  pistol  landed  on  the  floor 
and  struck  on  the  hammer,  which  rested  on  a  loaded 
cartridge. 

The  report  of  the  shot  in  the  close  room  was  deafen 
ing,  and  the  powder  smoke  and  dust  from  the  falling 
plaster  almost  choked  me.  I  stood  still,  with  the  pants 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  237 

in  my  hand,  wondering  if  my  friend  M.  had  thrown  a 
bomb  into  the  room.  Just  then  I  saw  the  silver  mounted 
pistol  on  the  floor,  and  realized  the  truth. 

M.  and  his  friend  were  at  the  door  trying  to  get  in 
to  see  if  I  had  committed  suicide,  rather  than  get  up 
so  early  to  go  fishing.  I  let  them  in  and  the  smoke 
and  dust  out,  by  opening  the  door. 

The  only  damage  was  a  few  yards  of  torn  plaster 
from  the  ceiling,  and  a  red  streak  across  my  forehead, 
where  the  bullet  had  barely  stung  me.  Luck  again  gets 
in  her  fine  work  in  my  behalf. 

We  went  out  in  the  Gulf  about  ten  miles,  and  had  a 
fine  day's  sport  catching  fish  and  drinking  something 
which  was  not  sea  water. 

Finally  I  landed  back  in  Denver,  Colorado,  to  wait 
for  some  other  exciting  operation  to  turn  up.  But  I 
didn't  have  long  to  wait,  as  a  hurry-up  call  came  from 
Arizona  for  a  good  sleuth. 

This  operation  was  for  N.  V.  Parke,  owner  of  the 
United  Birdy  Copper  mine,  of  Jerome,  Arizona,  and 
now  a  United  States  Senator  from  Montana.  And  while 
on  the  work,  I  got  a  peep  behind  the  curtain  of  "Fren 
zied  Finance." 

In  Arizona  a  big  fight  was  on  over  the  ownership  of 
the  Equator  mine,  five  miles  south  of  the  great  United 
Birdy. 

I  was  sent  to  Jerome  and  Prescott  a  month  or  two 
before  the  case  was  to  come  up  in  court  at  Tuscon.  No 
one  was  to  know  me  but  Asst.  Supt.  Allen  and  Supt. 
Joseph  Giroux,  of  the  United  Birdy  mine,  also  Eugene 
Giroux,  brother  to  the  superintendent. 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Later,  poor  Mr.  Allen  got  an  overdose  of  "Frenzied 
Finance"  mixed  with  high  wines  and  corn  juice,  and  shot 
his  head  off.  I  adopted  the  name  of  Lee  Roy  Davis. 

In  Prescott  I  met  some  old-time  friends  who  knew 
my  right  name  and  occupation,  but  I  had  no  fear  of 
them  giving  me  away.  They  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Golds- 
worthy  and  their  son,  the  railroad  agent  at  that  point, 
and  Mr.  Johnny  Kinney,  with  whom  I  got  on  my  first 
champagne  "drunk"  in  Las  Cruces,  New  Mexico,  in  1881, 
while  a  cowboy,  and  on  trail  of  cattle  stolen  in  Texas 
by  the  notorious  "Billy  the  Kid."  Up  to  that  time  I 
had  never  tasted  champagne. 

The  A.  T.  &  S.  F.  Ry.  was  then  building  down  the 
Rio  Grande  river,  and  had  reached  Rincon,  forty  miles 
above  Las  Cruces,  and  La  Mesilla,  the  twin  towns.  I 
was  working  on  Johnny  Kinney  secretly,  so  as  to  get  in 
with  the  noted  "Hurricane  Bill"  and  his  gang  of  cattle 
rustlers  and  desperadoes.  Kinney  then  owned  a  butcher 
shop  at  Rincon,  the  terminus  of  the  railroad,  and  much 
of  his  fresh  beef  came  through  "Hurricane  Bill"  and 
his  gang. 

In  Las  Cruces  I  was  invited  by  Kinney  to  accompany 
him  to  La  Mesilla,  and  attend  a  wedding  in  a  wealthy 
Mexican  family.  I  did  so,  and  champagne  flowed  like 
water,  giving  me  my  first  taste  of  high  life,  and  a  cham 
pagne  headache. 

Of  course,  on  being  recognized  by  Kinney,  in  Prescott, 
we  had  to  "hark  back"  to  that  wine  supper  and  dance  in 
La  Mesilla.  We  did  this  between  drinks  at  Mr.  N.  V. 
Parke's  expense. 

In  Prescott  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Duke, 


'A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  239 

the  big  man  on  the  opposing  side,  so  as  to  work  on  him 
at  the  trial  in  Tucson.  I  also  made  the  acquaintance 
of  many  of  his  witnesses  and  thereby  learned  some  of 
their  secrets. 

At  the  trial  in  Tucson,  Parke's  and  Duke's  money 
flowed  like  water  down  a  duck's  back,  swift  and  easy. 
Money  was  crowned  King  for  the  time  being,  Justice  be 
ing  hog-tied  and  losing  her  scales  in  the  shuffle. 

Albert  Ezekiel,  a  Deputy  United  States  Marshal,  who 
afterwards  joined  the  Dickenson  force,  was  Duke's  secret 
man. 

As  I  was  supposed  to  be  a  tough  cowboy  out  of  a 
job,  Duke  got  me  to  do  a  little  extra  detective  work 
for  him.  He  had  me  watching  Joseph  and  Eugene  Gi- 
roux,  so  as  to  find  out  their  plans.  Often  I  would  re 
port  of  hearing  conversations  between  the  Giroux 
brothers  at  the  Xavier  Hotel,  which  indicated  an  im 
portant  meeting  after  night  at  a  certain  place.  I  would 
then  have  the  Giroux  brothers  help  carry  out  my  scheme 
as  a  blind,  and  Duke  would  help  me  "shadow"  them, 
which  convinced  him  that  I  was  working  faithfully  for 
his  interest. 

It  was  a  puzzle  to  Mr.  Dtfke  as  to  why  I  refused  to 
meet  and  consult  with  his  leading  attorney,  Mr.  V.  E. 
Block,  now  a  United  States  Congressman  from  Colo 
rado  ;  my  excuse  to  him  being  that  my  cowboy  friends 
would  mob  me  if  they  knew  I  was  acting  as  a  detective. 
So  for  that  reason,  I  wouldn't  trust  anyone  but  himself. 
The  truth  of  the  matter  was,  I  had  met  Attorney  Block 
in  Colorado  Springs,  Colorado,  while  with  Dr.  J.  T. 
Remy,  on  the  Spion  Gold  Mining  Co.  operation,  and 
feared  being  recognized  by  him. 


240  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

The  Duke  crowd  won  the  suit.  The  jury  was  bought 
outright,  after  being  locked  up.  An  additional  $10,000 
of  the  slush  fund  drawn  out  of  the  bank  at  the  last  mo 
ment  did  the  work.  A  county  officer,  who  was  on  the  jury, 
told  each  juryman  who  was  sticking  out  for  N.  V. 
Parke,  to  go  out  in  the  toilet  room,  which  would  be  to 
their  advantage.  The  bailiff,  who  was  into  the  scheme, 
would  accompany  the  stubborn  juryman  into  the  toilet 
room  where  a  man  was  planted  with  the  cash.  There 
the  bargain  was  arranged  for  high  stakes,  and  our  side 
was  left  floundering  in  the  "soup."  I  was  on  the  "in 
side"  and  knew  what  took  place.  My  particular  friend 
on  the  jury  held  out  until  the  last  one.  That  night 
when  they  were  dismissed  from  the  jury  after  bringing 
in  a  verdict  for  the  Duke  side,  this  fellow  almost  shed 
tears  over  the  fact  of  going  back  on  us,  but  he  said  he 
couldn't  resist  the  temptation  of  the  fancy  price  offered 
him  in  the  toilet  room. 

The  only  consolation  I  could  get  was  in  helping  him 
spend  some  of  this  "tainted"  money. 

The  next  suit  came  up  in  Prescott,  and  it  was  rotten 
to  the  core.  My  friend  Johnny  Kinney  assisted  me 
here. 

Robt.  and  Joe  Morrison,  Prescott  attorneys,  were  as 
sisting  Attorney  Block  at  this  trial,  and  Joe  Morrison 
recognized  me  as  C.  Leon  Allison  whom  he  had  met  in 
Santa  Fe,  New  Mexico,  when  he  was  in  the  United 
States  Land  Office  there,  with  his  father,  Judge  Morri 
son.  This  affected  my  work,  as  he  was  suspicious  of 
me  working  against  his  client,  Duke. 

In  Prescott  I  had  two  operatives  from  Denver  assist 
ing  me. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  241 

Albert  Ezekiel  had  come  from  Tucson  to  work  for 
Duke. 

Thousands  of  dollars  of  Parke's  and  Duke's  money 
were  squandered  every  night  on  "Whiskey  Row,"  where 
a  dozen  saloons  stood  in  a  solid  row  fronting  the  Plaza 
and  Court  House.  The  "girl"  singers  and  the  music  on 
the  raised  platforms  in  the  rear  of  some  of  the  saloons, 
had  a  tendency  towards  making  the  old  "Hasayampa" 
sinners  forget  that  they  were  born  with  Nature's  full 
allowance  of  manhood,  and  that  the  courts  are  intended 
to  deal  out  justice,  regardless  of  the  amount  of  "dough" 
(money)  in  sight. 

After  another  hard  fought  monied  battle,  the  Duke 
side  won  again.  Of  course,  Duke  had  an  even  "break" 
from  a  legal  and  just  standpoint,  but  without  their  big- 
slush  fund  to  act  as  sauce  for  the  roasted  gander,  they 
never  could  have  won. 

The  case  went  to  the  higher  courts,  and  was  later 
settled  mutually,  so  I  was  informed  by  Congressman 
Block,  whom  I  met  under  false  pretenses  many  years 
later,  in  Yampa,  Colorado. 

On  this  operation  I  had  gained  valuable  lessons  in  high 
finance  and  the  ease  of  committing  perjury,  by  other 
wise  good  men  and  citizens. 

Another  operation  on  which  I  was  detailed  about  the 
year  1897,  was  the  running  down  of  a  banker's  son. 
He  had  gotten  away  with  large  sums  of  money  in  a  north- 
middle  State,  to  save  his  old  father  in  a  middle  State, 
from  going  to  the  wall  financially.  After  putting  the 
father  on  his  feet  with  the  stolen  money,  the  young  man 
crawled  into  a  hole  and  pulled  the  hole  in  after  him  so 

16 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

far  as  any  trace  of  him  remained.  From  a  former  chum 
of  this  banker's  son, — whom  we  will  call  Get-there-Eli, — 
our  clients  received  a  "tip"  that  he  was  somewhere  up 
in  British  Columbia.  Then  I  was  sent  to  run  him  down. 

After  I  had  located  Get-there-Eli  in  Greenwood  City, 
a  new  mining  camp  on  the  Kettle  river,  in  British  Co 
lumbia,  I  proceeded  to  make  his  acquaintance  and  to  win 
his  friendship,  which  I  did  finally.  I  found  that  Get- 
there-Eli  was  the  manager  of  a  mine  in  Greenwood  City, 
and  he  was  making  piles  of  money  selling  stock  at  fif 
teen  cents  a  share  in  his  new  company,  which  had  as 
officers  some  of  the  "big  guns"  of  Canada.  He  was  go 
ing  under  an  assumed  name,  but  looked  exactly  like  his 
photo  which  I  carried,  and  answered  the  description  to 
a  dot.  On  investigation  I  found  him  to  be  one  of  the 
solid  men  of  this  new  mining  country.  He  was  con 
sidered  an  expert  on  mines,  though  on  getting  acquainted 
with  him,  I  found  his  knowledge  on  mining  was  of  the 
"graft"  kind  picked  up  from  books,  etc.,  as  bait  to  catch 
"suckers"  and  I  soon  found  that  the  country  was  over 
run  with  "suckers"  ready  to  grab  any  kind  of  bait  which 
smelled  of  dividends. 

In  Prescott,  A.  T.,  I  once  asked  my  friend,  Johnny 
Kinney,  how  he  managed  to  make  such  an  easy  living, 
and  as  to  how  Prescott  prospered  as  a  mining  center 
with  so  few  pay  mines  tributary  to  the  little  city.  He  re 
plied:  "You  must  remember  that  we  get  many  English 
capitalists  to  look  over  our  country  every  year.  English 
men  are  like  those  fish  with  the  big  mouths,  called  suckers. 
Their  mouths  are  always  open  ready  to  receive  a  bait 
that  looks  like  a  dividend.  Of  course,  they  get  hooked, 
but  then  new  ones  are  coming  out  all  the  time." 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  243 

I  found  Greenwood  City  swarming  with  this  kind 
of  fish.  The  king  fish  of  the  bunch  was  a  fine  fellow 
named  Germain.  He  was  past  middle  life  and  had  ac 
cumulated  a  nice  little  fortune  in  the  drug  business  in 
London,  England.  Hearing  of  the  great  Boundary  Min 
ing  District,  he  sold  out  his  drug  business  and  came  to 
Greenwood  City,  arriving  there  a  couple  of  months 
ahead  of  me. 

The  snow  lay  deep  on  the  ground,  and  he  found  many 
old  "stove-warmers"  at  the  saloons,  who  had  rich  pros 
pects  to  sell  cheap,  though  they  were  covered  with  sev 
eral  feet  of  snow  which  would  prevent  a  prospective  pur 
chaser  from  examining  the  veins  until  the  snow  melted 
in  the  late  Spring.  So,  for  that  reason,  they  would  sell 
cheap  for  cash.  When  Spring  came,  poor  old  Germain 
had  most  of  his  fortune  invested  in  these  kinds  of  mines. 

On  the  Queen's  birthday,  Get-there-Eli  had  got  me  to 
sell  some  of  his  mining  shares.  On  that  day  the  English 
"suckers"  bite  better  than  any  other  time.  Of  course, 
I  wanted  to  make  myself  solid  with  Get-there-Eli,  by 
selling  a  good  bunch  of  his  stock.  It  was  "wild  cat" 
stock  then,  but  the  mine,  which  I  examined,  had  the  ear 
marks  of  a  possible  producer  in  the  future. 

I  have  always  been  a  good  fisherman  when  I  didn't 
have  to  wait  too  long  for  the  bite,  and  the  larger  the 
fish  the  better.  Therefore,  my  hook  was  baited  and 
thrown  towards  Mr.  Germain.  His  mouth  was  open 
and  I  landed  him  for  $600  in  cash,  my  commission  be 
ing  $80.  During  the  day  I  hooked  a  few  smaller 
"suckers"  and  made  good  wages. 

Shortly  after  the  Queen's  birthday,  Mr.  Germain  in.- 


244  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

formed  me  that  he  had  started  two  men  to  work  on  one 
of  his  mines,  as  the  snow  had  gone  off  in  that  neighbor 
hood,  a  few  miles  north  of  town.  He  said  he  had  great 
confidence  in  my  judgment  on  mining  matters,  and  would 
like  for  me  to  advise  him  as  to  the  best  way  to  develop 
this  mine  quickly,  so  as  to  make  a  dividend  payer  of  it. 

He  and  I  walked  up  to  the  mine  one  morning.  We 
found  the  two  "Micks"  down  in  the  six-foot  holes  work 
ing  like  Turks  to  keep  warm.  On  our  arrival  the  two 
miners  stopped  work  and  Germain  jumped  down  into 
the  open  cut.  He  asked  me  to  come  down  into  the  hole 
so  as  to  get  a  better  look  at  the  fresh  ore.  I  told  him  that 
it  wasn't  necessary  as  it  was  all  alike,  just  a  big  blue 
limestone  ledge.  The  two  miners  looked  daggers  at 
me,  as  I  was  taking  the  bread  and  butter  out  of  their 
mouths  by  knocking  them  cut  of  a  job. 

The  smile  faded  from  Germain's  face  like  the  dew  from 
a  sun-kissed  rose.  With  a  look  of  despair,  he  asked  if 
I  meant  that  he  had  no  mine  there.  I  told  him  such  was 
the  fact.  He  then  said :  "What  if  my  other  mines  turn 
out  like  this  one?  If  they  do,  I  am  a  ruined  man."  I 
advised  him  not  to  take  my  word  for  it,  but  to  hire  a 
certain  mining  expert  who  lived  in  town  and  who  had  a 
good  reputation,  to  come  up  the  next  day  and  examine 
the  property.  My  advice  was  taken  and  the  two  miners 
lost  their  jobs. 

Germain's  other  mines  were  examined  by  the  same 
expert  and  when  I  was  leaving  Greenwood  City,  poor 
Germain  was  packing  up  to  leave  the  "bloody  swindling 
country"  to  return  to  his  family  in  London,  England, 
a  poorer  but  wiser  man.  I  was  truly  sorry  for  the  poor 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  245 

fellow,  and  the  $80  of  his  money  which  was  in  my  pocket 
seemed  to  be  hot.  I  felt  like  giving  it  back  to  him,  but 
didn't  dare  to,  as  it  would  have  placed  me  on  the  fool 
list. 

Germain  was  not  alone  in  his  misery  when  the  snow 
went  off;  the  woods  were  full  of  the  same  kind  of  sick 
"suckers." 

When  the  time  came  for  swooping  down  on  Get-there- 
Eli,  our  friends  sent  an  agent  from  the  east  to  pick  the 
poor  fellow's  financial  bones.  On  the  arrival  of  the  agent 
I  steered  Get-there-Eli  to  his  room  after  supper,  as  the 
agent  was  a  supposed  friend  of  mine  from  Texas,  who 
wanted  to  invest  in  mines.  He  and  Get-there-Eli  were 
old  friends,  and  to  see  the  look  on  Get-there-Eli's  face 
when  I  shut  the  door  and  locked  it  and  introduced  him 
to  his  former  friend  under  his  own  name,  was  worth  a 
trip  to  British  Columbia. 

After  shaking  hands  with  the  agent,  poor  Get-there- 
Eli  sat  down  on  the  bed,  and  with  pale  face,  told  me  that 
I  had  played  my  cards  splendidly. 

A  deal  was  made  to  return  the  stolen  money, — many 
thousands  of  dollars, — if  we  would  promise  to  not  ex 
pose  him  in  British  Columbia,  where  his  reputation  was 
above  par,  and  his  chances  of  becoming  a  millionaire 
good. 

Our  friends  wanted  their  money  back,  and  I  had  been 
playing  my  hand  with  that  object  in  view. 

The  agent  started  right  back  to  the  boyhood  home 
of  Get-there-Eli  to  get  the  money  from  his  parents, 
while  I  remained  to  keep  an  eagle  eye  on  G.  T.  E.  We 
became  bedfellows  and  greatly  attached  to  each  other. 


246  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

He  was  a  fine,  portly  young  man,  with  more  than  the 
average  allowance  of  brains.  He  and  I  kept  up  a  cor 
respondence  for  a  couple  of  years,  and  he  reported  good 
fishing  and  schools  of  new  "suckers"  arriving,  eager  to 
take  the  hook.  Since  then  I  have  lost  all  trace  of  him. 

Finally  I  received  a  letter  to  discontinue  and  return 
to  Denver,  as  matters  had  been  settled. 

On  this  trip  in  British  Columbia,  I  met  two  of  the 
old  Coeur  D'Alene  dynamiters,  Jack  Lucy  and  "Spud" 
Murphy.  The  latter  threatened  to  kill  me,  but  my  friends 
Geo.  Mimms  and  Millionaire  Jim  Clark,  in  Grand  Forks, 
persuaded  him  out  of  the  notion,  as  I  was  pretty  handy 
with  a  gun  myself.  I  had  helped  send  "Spud"  Murphy 
to  the  pen  in  1892  from  Coeur  d'Alene  City,  Idaho. 

I  reached  Denver  after  an  absence  of  about  three 
months. 


CHAPTER  XI 

BILL  BLANK  CATTLE-STEALING  CASE — CHRISTMAS  DIN 
NER  AND  A  DANCE  ON  THE  L  X  CATTLE  RANCH  IN 
TEXAS — LEFT  AFOOT  ON  A  NEW  MEXICO  DESERT 
WITHOUT  WATER. 

My  next  operation  out  of  the  city  was  of  a  "Frenzied 
Finance"  order,  wherein  a  man  whom  we  will  call  Bill 
Blank,  a  cattleman  whom  I  had  known  by  reputation 
all  my  life,  had  swindled  Kansas  City  money  brokers 
out  of  large  sums  of  money  through  shady  transactions. 

This  William  Blank  had  come  from  a  noted  family  of 
Texas  cattle  raisers,  and  in  a  cattle  deal  Bill  was  "foxy" 
and  could  out-fox  a  fox.  It  was  also  said  that  he  had 
nine  lives  like  a  cat.  During  the  '8os,  in  New  Mexico, 
Curly  Bill's  outlaw  gang  shot  him  seven  times  through 
the  body  and  left  him  out  on  the  desert  for  dead,  so  the 
story  goes.  But  he  wasn't  dead  by  a  jugful,  as  a  couple 
of  days  later  he  crawled  into  his  camp  and  soon  after 
began  figuring  on  a  big  cattle  deal  in  Montana. 

Some  Kansas  City  money  brokers  had  furnished  cash 
to  buy  steers  in  San  Antonio,  Texas,  the  Spring  previous 
to  my  being  detailed  on  the  case,  taking  a  mortgage  on 
the  steers  for  security.  The  steers  were  to  be  driven  to 
the  Indian  Territory  and  there  fattened  for  the  fall  mar 
ket  on  buffalo  grass. 

As  a  precaution  against  loss,  and  so  the  money  brokers 
could  identify  their  property  in  case  of  trouble,  the  tip 
of  one  horn  of  each  steer  was  cut  off. 

247 


248  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

The  cattle  were  taken  to  the  Comanche  Indian  Re 
servation  in  the  western  part  of  the  Indian  Territory, 
and  there  turned  loose  to  fatten.  They  were  kept  within 
a  certain  range  by  Blank's  cowboys  riding  lines.  Late 
in  the  Fall  Bill  concluded  he  didn't  want  to  ship  the 
steers  east  for  "feeders."  Therefore  he  turned  them  over 
to  the  brokers  to  get  their  money  if  they  could,  he  him 
self  withdrawing  from  the  scene.  When  the  brokers 
sent  cowboys  to  gather  up  all  steers  with  the  tip  of  one 
horn  cut  off,  they  failed  to  find  any  but  a  few  of  the 
original  number.  They  were  not  in  the  country,  and 
Blank  said  he  couldn't  account  for  them  being  gone  un 
less  the  Indians  had  killed  them.  Then  I  was  detailed 
to  unravel  the  mystery. 

From  Denver  I  started  on  the  Denver  &  Ft.  Worth  Ry. 
for  Amarillo,  Texas,  there  to  buy  a  horse  and  saddle 
and  ride  to  the  range  where  the  Blank  steers  had  been 
kept  during  the  summer. 

I  arrived  in  Amarillo,  Texas,  at  three  o'clock  Christmas 
morning.  A  blizzard  was  raging  and  the  weather  was 
very  cold.  Knowing  that  my  old  cowboy  friend  of  early 
days,  Jack  Ryan,  kept  a  saloon  in  this  town,  I  concluded 
to  go  there  and  warm  up.  On  entering  Ryan's  place 
I  found  Jack  behind  the  bar. 

After  shaking  hands,  Jack  asked  if  I  could  recognize 
any  of  my  old  friends  among  the  drunken  men  sleeping 
on  the  floor,  chairs  and  tables.  Casting  my  eyes  over 
the  bunch  I  picked  out  my  friend  Burkley  Howe  sleeping 
in  a  chair  and  dead  to  the  world  from  over-indulgence  in 
"firewater."  In  looking  at  him  my  mind  drifted  back  to 
1878,  when  he,  then  a  fine  looking,  sober  young  man  of 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  249 

high  education  and  wealthy  parents,  came  to  the  Pan 
handle  of  Texas,  then  a  wild,  unsettled  country,  to  learn 
the  cattle  business.  He  came  from  Massachusetts,  the 
former  home  of  David  T.  Beals,  Erskine  Clement  and 
Mr.  Bates,  for  whom  I  was  then  employed.  As  I  was 
then  boss  of  an  outfit  on  the  staked  plains  where  the  little 
city  of  Amarillo  now  stands,  Howe  was  turned  over  to 
me  to  be  taught  the  cattle  business. 

Now,  here  sat  that  same  Burkley  Howe  on  this  Christ 
mas  morning,  over  20  years  later,  a  total  wreck  and 
aged  beyond  his  years  from  that  greatest  of  all  evils, 
liquor. 

Slapping  him  on  the  shoulder  I  said:  "Hello  there, 
Burkley  Howe,  old  boy!" 

Before  opening  his  eyes  he  yelled :  "Well,  I'll  be  d d 

if  there  isn't  Charlie  Siringo!"  He  had  recognized  my 
voice.  He  then  jumped  up  and  began  hugging  me  and 
declaring  to  the  other  drunken  men  who  had  awakened 
when  he  yelled  that  I  used  to  be  the  best  wild-horse 
rider  in  the  United  States.  He  had  seen  me  ride  some 
"bad"  horses  and  he  couldn't  brag  on  me  enough.  In 
order  to  choke  him  off,  I  called  the  crowd  up  to  take  a 
Christmas  drink  with  me. 

Ryan  then  informed  me  that  my  old  friend,  John  Holli- 
cott,  the  manager  of  the  L  X  ranch,  which  I  had  helped 
establish,  was  at  a  saloon  across  the  street  celebrating 
Christmas.  Running  across  the  street  I  found  Hollicott 
dancing  a  jig  and  having  a  rattling  good  time,  as  he 
called  it.  He  almost  choked  me  as  he  dragged  me  up  to 
the  bar  to  take  a  Christmas  drink  "on  him."  The  whole 
crowd  of  a  dozen  men  were  called  up  to  drink.  I  was  the 


250  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

hero  of  the  moment  with  Hollicott.  Finally  we  went 
across  to  Jack  Ryan's  place  and  Howe  joined  in  the 
celebration. 

At  daylight  Hollicott's  coachman  hitched  up  the 
spirited  team  of  mules  and  we  started  for  the  L  X  ranch 
on  the  Canadian  river  20  miles  north,  to  take  Christmas 
dinner  with  the  "boys"  and  girls  there. 

I  left  poor  Howe  laid  out  on  the  floor  and  I  haven't 
seen  him  since,  but  I  was  informed  through  friends  that 
he  died  a  year  or  two  later  which  proves  what  liquor 
can  do  in  a  twenty  years'  tussle  with  robust  manhood. 

We  had  a  cold  ride  against  the  raging  blizzard  with 
the  thermometer  ten  degrees  below  zero,  hence  the  cork 
was  pulled  from  the  five-gallon  jug  several  times  before 
reaching  the  ranch. 

It  was  about  10  A.  M.  when  we  reached  the  roaring 
fire  in  the  large  stone  fireplace  which  I  had  helped  to 
build  over  twenty  years  before.  There  was  the  identical 
hearthstone  put  in  place  by  W.  C.  Moore,  the  outlaw 
murderer  whom  I  met  in  Juneau,  Alaska,  and  me. 

Thoughts  of  bygone  days  flew  thick  and  fast,  and  the 
flames  from  the  log  fire  seemed  to  be  playing  hide  and 
seek  with  other  bright  blazes  of  long  ago.  Possibly  my 
familiarity  with  the  jug  en  route  from  Amarillo  had 
something  to  do  with  my  imagination. 

Hollicott  introduced  me  to  the  Lee  family  who  lived  on 
the  ranch.  The  head  of  the  household  was  Mr.  Garnett 
Lee,  then  came  his  good-looking,  black-eyed  wife  and 
their  two  beautiful  young  lady  daughters.  The  younger, 
a  girl  of  18,  had  just  come  from  a  college  in  middle 
Texas  to  spend  the  holidays.  She  was  indeed  a  little' 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  251 

"peach,"  and  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  keep  from  falling  in 
love  with  her,  even  though  I  was  old  enough  to  be  her 
father. 

Several  of  Hollicott's  cowboys  from  outside  camps 
were  on  hand  to  sample  the  Christmas  dinner.  Two  of 
them,  Charlie  Sprague  and  Johnny  Bell,  were  former 
chums  of  mine  and  had  worked  under  me  when  I  was  a 
"boss"  on  this  ranch.  The  others  I  had  never  met  before. 

About  2  P.  M.  the  fat  gobbler  and  .cranberry  sauce,  with 
the  side  "fixens"  were  set  on  the  same  old  table  from 
which  the  noted  outlaw  "Billy  the  Kid"  and  I  ate  meals 
together  twenty  years  previous.  It  was  a  dinner  fit  for 
kings  and  queens,  and  we  all  did  justice  to  it.  When  we 
got  through  Mr.  Turkey-gobbler  looked  as  though  he 
had  been  to  a  bone-picking  match. 

The  afternoon  was  spent  "harking  back"  and  sampling 
the  contents  of  the  jug. 

At  night,  after  supper,  one  of  the  boys  got  out  his 
violin  and  the  dance  started.  There  being  only  three 
ladies  present  we  had  to  make  a  girl  out  of  one  of  the 
"boys"  by  tying  a  handkerchief  around  his  arm,  in  order 
to  fill  out  the  set. 

Towards  morning  the  jug  began  to  work  on  Hollicott 
and  he  wouldn't  let  me  dance.  He  insisted  on  "harking 
back"  to  the  early  days  of  our  cowboy  lives.  He  and  I 
first  met  in  1876  in  Kiowa,  Kansas,  at  which  time  he 
was  a  cowboy  for  the  Hunter  &  Evans  cattle  outfit,  and 
I  was  drifting  around  to  give  my  mustache  a  chance  to 
grow. 

John  Hollicott  was  a  high-bred  gentleman,  born  in 
bonnie  Scotland.  He  was  a  fine-looking  six-footer,  with 


252  A    COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

a  heart  like  an  ox.  Being  born  tired  was  his  only  fault, 
especially  when  it  came  to  getting  up  in  the  morning. 
At  one  time  he  had  worked  under  me  on  a  big  roundup 
on  the  South  Paloduro,  and  getting  him  up  for  the  peep 
o'day  breakfasts  was  my  hardest  work.  That  same  year, 
1883,  Mr.  Hollicott  took  a  jump  from  a  common  cowboy 
to  the  manager  of  this  big  L  X  ranch,  with  its  50,000 
head  of  cattle  and  the  hundreds  of  fine  horses.  Hence 
the  fact  of  his  being  born  tired  didn't  seem  to  work  to 
his  disadvantage. 

I  had  been  considered  as  one  of  the  candidates  for  this 
fat  position,  but  was  told  that  some  of  the  stockholders 
in  the  company  objected  to  me  as  not  being  tame  enough 
for  such  a  responsible  position.  Therefore,  Mr.  Holli 
cott  won  out,  and  years  later,  I  was  his  honored  guest. 

Towards  daylight  the  dance  broke  up  and  the  coach 
man  drove  Hollicott  and  me  and  our  Christmas  "jag"  up 
to  the  mouth  of  Pitcher  Creek,  a  couple  of  miles,  where 
Hollicott  had  his  private  home. 

We  retired  together  in  the  same  bed,  and  Hollicott 
was  soon  fast  asleep.  But  not  so  with  me — I  couldn't 
sleep  for  "harking  back"  in  my  own  mind  to  the  day 
when  Mr.  Bates  and  I  slept  at  this  very  spot,  and  chose 
this  as  the  headquarters  camp  of  the  future  L  X  ranch. 
That  was  in  the  early  fall  of  1877,  and  "Deacon"  Bates, 
Mr.  David  T.  Beals'  partner,  had  brought  me  along  into 
this  wild  unsettled  country  to  help  him  select  a  cattle 
range  for  a  new  company  which  Mr.  Beals  had  formed. 

The  country  was  then  alive  with  buffalo  and  Indians. 
Across  the  river  from  the  mouth  of  Pitcher  Creek,  only 
a  mile,  three  hundred  half  naked  and  painted  Apache 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  253 

Indians  were  then  camped.  Hence  Mr.  Bates  and  I 
didn't  know  what  moment  our  scalps  might  be  lifted. 
We  selected  a  range  forty  miles  square.  The  grass  was 
fine  and  not  a  single  cow-brute  to  eat  it,  until  after  the 
first  L  X  herds  arrived  from  the  north. 

Now,  as  I  lay  by  the  side  of  my  old  cowboy  companion, 
the  thoughts  of  those  good  old  free  and  easy  days  came 
back.  But  finally  my  brain  felt  like  scrambled  eggs — a 
jumbled  up  mess  of  woolly  buffalo,  painted  Indians, 
yelling  cowboys,  bucking  broncos,  long  horn  cattle,  fat 
turkey  gobbler,  two  pretty  girls  and  a  big  brown  jug; 
then  I  fell  asleep. 

About  10  A.  M.  I  was  awakened  by  Hollicott,  who  was 
up  and  holding  the  jug  and  a  glass,  ready  to  give  me  a 
morning  "bracer." 

After  a  hearty  breakfast  I  asked  Hollicott  to  take  me 
back  to  Amarillo  so  that  I  could  buy  a  horse  and  saddle 
for  my  journey  to  the  Indian  Territory.  He  replied  that 
I  had  to  lay  over  another  night  and  "hark  back,"  this  be 
ing  a  favorite  expression  of  his.  When  I  insisted  that 
it  would  take  me  at  least  a  day  or  two  to  buy  a  horse  and 
saddle  and  that  I  was  in  a  hurry  to  reach  my  destination, 
he  said:  "Now,  Charlie,  don't  mention  horse  and  saddle 
to  me  again,  when  you  get  ready  to  go  the  best  horse 
on  this  ranch  will  be  brought  up  to  the  door,  saddled 
and  ready  to  mount,  and  if  that  don't  suit  you,  I'll  send 
my  team  and  coachman  to  take  you  wherever  you  want 
to  go." 

I  remained,  and  in  the  afternoon  we  followed  the  pack 
of  hounds  in  lively  chases  after  wolves  and  jack  rabbits. 
After  breakfast  next  morning,  a  five-year  old  brown 


254  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

horse,  sixteen  hands  high,  and  in  every  respect  a  model 
piece  of  horse-flesh,  was  brought  to  the  door  of  the  stone 
house  at  the  headquarters  ranch,  where  lived  the  Garnett 
Lee  family.  On  his  back  was  Johnny  Bell's  saddle. 

This  horse  had  just  lately  been  broken,  he  having  run 
wild  on  the  range  all  his  life.  I  had  known  his  sire  and 
his  grandsire  on  his  dam's  side,  and  they  were  of  the 
best  blood.  The  sire  was  Glen  Alpine,  a  four-mile  run 
ning  horse,  and  the  grandsire  on  the  dam's  side  was  a 
high-priced  trotting  stallion  which  Mr.  Beals  had  shipped 
from  Boston,  Mass.,  when  the  L  X  ranch  was  first 
established.  Mr.  Beals  had  once  presented  me  with  one 
of  old  Glen  Alpine's  colts,  the  pick  of  about  fifty  head, 
but  like  many  other  fool  cowboys  I  got  short  of  cash 
in  a  poker  game  and  sold  him  for  $200.  Hence  this 
big  snorting  brown  was  the  second  gift-horse  from  the 
same  blood. 

On  mounting  Glen  Alpine,  Jr.,  after  bidding  every 
body,  including  the  two  pretty  Lee  girls,  goodby,  Holli- 
cott  told  me  never  to  sell  this  horse,  but  to  shoot  him 
when  I  had  no  further  use  for  his  horseship.  I  promised 
that  he  would  never  be  sold. 

Some  of  the  ''boys"  rode  a  few  miles  with  me  and  they 
said  that  Hollicott  and  the  girls  were  no  doubt  dis 
appointed  at  my  horse  not  bucking,  as  they  expected  a 
free  show,  with  me  as  the  star  actor.  They  said  this 
horse  was  a  hard  bucker  and  was  always  ready  to  show 
his  skill.  They  couldn't  account  for  him  not  bucking 
that  morning.  But  he  made  up  for  it  the  next  morning 
and  on  many  occasions  afterwards. 

Two  days  later  Glen  Alpine,  Jr.,  was  left  in  a  livery 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  255 

stable  at  Panhandle  City,  and  I  boarded  an  A.  T.  &  S. 
F.  Ry.  train  for  Woodward,  Oklahoma,  one  of  the  new 
boom  towns  in  the  recently  opened-to-settlement 
"Cherokee  strip." 

In  Woodward  several  former  cowboy  friends  were 
met,  among  them  being  two  cowboys  who  had  worked 
under  me  on  the  range.  One,  Billy  Bell,  was  a  brother 
to  Johnny  Bell  who  gave  me  the  saddle.  The  other  was 
Jim  Goeber,  late  sheriff  of  Potter  County,  Texas,  in 
which  county  the  L  X  ranch  and  Amarillo  are  situated. 
Here  I  also  met  Temple  Houston,  a  son  of  the  Lone  Star 
State  hero,  Sam  Houston.  He  was  a  bright  lawyer,  and 
through  liquor,  had  become  a  man-killer,  so  I  was  told. 
But  whiskey  soon  put  him  under  the  sod,  judging  from 
later  newspaper  accounts. 

After  investigating  matters  connected  with  my  opera 
tion,  I  returned  to  Panhandle  City,  where  Glen  Alpine, 
Jr.,  was  mounted,  and  a  start  made  south. 

One  night  was  spent  at  the  Charlie  Goodnight  ranch, 
where  next  day  I  rode  out  in  the  pasture  to  see  the 
Goodnight  herd  of  buffalo  and  some  half-breeds. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Goodnight  were  not  at  home,  therefore 
I  didn't  get  to  see  them.  In  the  early  days  I  had  eaten 
meals  with  them  both  in  cow  camps,  and  on  one  occasion, 
Mrs.  Goodnight,  a  good-hearted  little  lady,  divided  the 
wild  berries  which  she  had  gathered,  with  me.  For  this 
I  have  always  held  her  in  high  esteem,  as  in  those  days 
women  in  the  Panhandle  country  were  scarce  and  far 
between. 

My  work  lay  mostly  in  Greer  County,  Oklahoma, 
Mangum  being  the  county  seat,  and  across  the  north  fork 


256  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

of  Red  River,  on  the  Comanche  Reservation  in  the  Indian 
Territory.  This  brought  me  onto  ground  gone  over  by 
Tim  W.  in  the  Tuscarora,  Nevada,  operation. 

Finally  I  rode  to  Vernon,  Texas,  on  the  Fort  Worth 
Railroad,  to  work  on  Mr.  C.  T.  Merrick,  a  big  cattle 
king,  now  a  banker  in  that  town.  From  him  I  gained 
much  valuable  information  about  the  Bill  Blank  cattle, 
without  his  knowing  my  object.  I  visited  at  his  home 
and  became  acquainted  with  his  lovely  wife.  He  is  a 
Prince  and  she  a  Queen,  of  the  American  kind. 

In  Vernon,  Glen  Alpine,  Jr.,  was  left  in  a  livery  stable 
and  I  boarded  a  train  for  the  cities  of  Fort  Worth, 
Dallas,  Austin  and  San  Antonio. 

In  Austin,  the  capital  city,  I  made  the  acquaintance 
of  the  noted  Robert  G.  Ingersoll  and  his  good  wife.  We 
rode  in  the  same  car  to  San  Antonio,  and  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  a  private  talk  with  this  great  man. 

In  and  around  San  Antonio  I  found  out  all  about  the 
steers  purchased  by  Bill  Blank.  Trips  were  made  out  on 
the  range  where  the  steers  had  been  purchased,  and  the 
end  of  one  horn  cut  off,  and  I  also  found  where  a  man 
whom  we  will  call  Capt.  Dash  had  bought  a  herd  of  steers 
with  the  same  ranch-brands  as  the  ones  bought  by  Blank, 
and  the  tips  of  both  horns  of  these  were  cut  off,  and 
thereby  hangs  the  tale  of  this  plot. 

In  the  course  of  time  I  got  back  to  Vernon  and  found 
Glen  Alpine,  Jr.,  seal-fat,  so  that  he  bucked  like  the  old 
Harry  when  I  mounted  him. 

Finally  I  bade  goodby  to  my  friends  in  Vernon  and 
started  on  a  six  hundred  mile  ride  for  New  Mexico  on 
trail  of  a  herd  of  cattle  driven  to  New  Mexico  by  Bill 
Blank  the  previous  summer. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  257 

On  reaching  the  staked  plains  my  road  was  as  level 
as  a  floor  for  about  two  hundred  miles.  It  was  indeed 
a  revelation  to  me  how  these  plains  had  settled  up  with 
a  hardy  race  of  small  ranchmen,  with  windmills  to  fur 
nish  water.  In  former  days  I  had  scouted  all  over  these 
plains  in  search  of  L  X  cattle  which  were  in  the  habit 
of  following  the  buffalo  south,  and  at  that  time  there 
were  no  settlers  at  all.  Now,  windmills  could  be  counted 
by  the  hundreds  in  a  day's  ride. 

West  of  Plainview,  near  the  eastern  line  of  New  Mex 
ico,  I  stopped  with  a  gentlemanly  young  nephew  of  Bill 
Blank's  so  as  to  work  on  him  and  find  out  on  the  sly 
about  the  herd  of  cattle  driven  to  Arizona  by  his  wide- 
lawake  uncle. 

Before  reaching  the  Pecos  River  my  good  name  saved 
me  from  losing  supper  and  sleeping  out  in  the  cold  with 
out  bedding.  The  ranches  here  were  far  between. 

Night  had  almost  overtaken  me  when  I  rode  up  to  a 
Mr.  Taylor's  ranch.  Tying  Glen  Alpine,  Jr.,  to  the  gate 
post  I  knocked  on  the  door.  It  required  several  knocks 
to  bring  results.  Finally  the  door  opened  just  a  little 
and  a  nice-looking  young  woman  who  proved  to  be 
Mrs.  Taylor,  asked  what  was  wanted.  I  requested  to 
stay  all  night.  She  was  sorry  but  had  to  refuse  on  ac 
count  of  her  husband  being  absent,  and  she  and  Miss 
Alice  Littlefield  being  alone.  I  asked  if  Miss  Littlefield 
was  related  to  Jim  and  Geo.  Littlefield,  and  to  my  friends, 
Phelps  and  Tom  White.  She  answered  yes,  that  Alice 
was  a  daughter  of  Jim's.  Then  I  gave  my  true  name 
and  Miss  Alice  opened  the  door  wide  and  gave  me  a 
hearty  welcome,  after  introducing  me  to  Mrs.  Taylor. 

17 


258  'A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Miss  Alice  and  I  had  never  met,  but  knew  each  other 
by  reputation.  I  had  worked  on  the  cattle  trail  between 
Texas  and  Kansas  for  her  uncle  and  father  before  she 
was  born. 

The  two  ladies  had  a  big  laugh  over  their  plans  to 
fight  me  to  a  finish  in  case  I  insisted  on  stopping.  Their 
guns  were  primed  and  cocked  for  my  benefit,  as  they 
supposed  I  was  a  desperado,  from  the  fact  of  my  having 
a  Winchester  rifle  on  my  saddle  and  a  pistol  strapped 
around  my  waist,  for  people  in  this  country  had  become 
civilized  and  quit  loading  themselves  down  with  firearms. 

I  spent  a  pleasant  night  and  found  Mrs.  Taylor  to 
be  a  jolly  good  little  woman,  and  Miss  Littlefield  was  a 
lovely  and  highly  educated  young  woman  who  seemed 
out  of  place  in  this  desolate  country. 

Two  days  later  I  put  up  for  the  night  at  the  Lewis 
ranch  on  the  Pecos  river,  forty-five  miles  above  the  lively 
town  of  Roswell,  New  Mexico. 

I  got  an  early  start  from  the  Lewis  ranch  next  morn 
ing,  as  the  distance  to  the  next  water  was  about  90  miles 
across  a  desert  country,  without  roads  or  habitation. 

A  lunch  was  put  up  for  me  by  Mrs.  Lewis,  and  with 
a  full  canteen  of  water  I  started.  I  had  made  a  trip 
over  this  desert  country  once  before  in  1881,  with  Lon 
Chambers,  when  we  rode  from  the  L  X  ranch  in  Texas, 
to  Lincoln,  New  Mexico,  there  to  meet  Deputy  United 
States  Marshal  John  W.  Poe,  and  act  as  witnesses  in 
the  noted  "Billy  the  Kid"  cattle  stealing  case.  On  the 
trip  we  came  very  near  perishing  for  want  of  water,  as 
our  horses  played  out. 

Recalling  my  past  experience  in  crossing  this  desert, 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  259 

I  couldn't  help  feeling  a  little  shaky,  starting  out  alone, 
though  I  had  great  faith  in  my  horse  not  playing  out 
this  time,  for  I  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  there 
was  no  getting  tired  with  this  son  of  that  great  horse, 
Glen  Alpine.  With  faith  in  one's  horse  the  battle  is 
half  won. 

We  headed  for  the  Capitan  mountains,  which  were  in 
sight.  There  being  no  road  and  the  ground  being  rough 
and  soft,  we  made  slow  headway.  Often  "Glen"  would 
go  up  to  his  knees  in  the  soft  gypsum  soil,  which  is  full 
of  caves.  At  noon  I  stopped  an  hour  to  let  "Glen" 
graze  and  to  eat  my  lunch.  I  had  water,  but  poor  "Glen" 
had  none.  By  sundown  we  had  traveled  about  fifty  miles, 
which  was  equal  to  seventy-five  over  a  good  road.  "Glen" 
was  beginning  to  act  tired,  though  I  think  it  was  more 
from  the  lack  of  water,  as  the  day  had  been  very  hot. 
There  was  one  small  drink  left  in  the  canteen  and  I  had 
been  saving  it  for  the  past  couple  of  hours  as  a  life- 
preserver. 

Just  at  dusk  I  dismounted  to  fix  the  saddle  tightly 
on  "Glen's"  back  for  the  thirty-mile  night  ride  to  water. 
The  front  cinch  was  tightened  and  I  was  pulling  up  the 
flank  one,  when  "Glen"  went  to  bawling  and  pitching. 
He  bucked  'round  and  'round,  taking  me  with  him.  I 
hung  onto  the  bridle  reins  for  dear  life.  Finally  I  had 
to  turn  loose,  and  "Glen"  was  soon  only  a  streak  of  brown 
in  the  twilight.  At  last  the  streak  disappeared  entirely. 
He  had  gone  back  the  way  we  had  come,  at  a  clip  which 
did  credit  to  his  ancestors.  I  swore  a  blue  streak  for 
not  drinking  the  last  water  in  the  canteen  while  I  had 
the  opportunity. 


260  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

I  stood  still  for  a  few  moments,  wondering  what  to  do. 
There  to  the  southwest  lay  the  dim  outlines  of  the  Capi- 
tan  mountains,  a  walk  of  thirty  miles  to  the  first  water. 
And  towards  the  east,  nothing  but  a  desolate-looking 
stretch  of  darkness.  I  could  still  see  "Glen's"  tracks,  and 
my  mind  was  finally  settled  on  following  them  so  long  as 
they  could  be  seen.  Therefore  I  struck  out  in  a  trot 
"all  same"  Comanche  Indian  on  trail  of  his  supper  when 
following  a  wounded  deer. 

A  run  of  about  one  mile  brought  me  to  where  I  could 
no  longer  see  the  tracks.  There  I  stopped  to  go  back, 
rather  than  risk  the  sixty  mile  walk  to  the  Pecos  River 
without  water.  I  began  to  wish  that  I  had  given  up  the 
detective  business  before  starting  into  it,  for  the  future 
looked  a  little  scaly  to  me  then.  My  tongue  was  already 
swollen  slightly,  and  there  was  no  guessing  how  it  would 
be  by  morning. 

I  could  see  a  dark  object  which  looked  like  a  clump 
of  bushes,  off  to  the  east  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  A 
faint  hope  sprung  up  in  my  heart  that  this  might  be 
"Glen"  who  had  gotten  his  foot  in  the  bridle  reins  and 
had  to  stop.  Finally  I  concluded  to  investigate  this  dark 
object  and  when  within  a  hundred  yards  of  it  a  loud 
snort  reached  my  ears  and  away  he  flew.  My  heart 
beat  with  joy  at  being  so  near  water,  even  though  it  was 
out  of  reach.  "Glen"  was  soon  out  of  sight  jagain,  but 
I  ran  in  the  direction  he  had  gone.  In  a  few  moments 
the  dark  object  hove  in  sight  again.  Here  I  concluded 
to  use  my  brain  against  common  horse  sense.  I  walked 
leisurely  around  the  dark  spot  until  I  was  east  of  it.  Then 
I  began  to  whistle  favorite  tunes,  now  and  then  sitting 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  261 

down  to  give  "Glen"  a  chance  to  get  used  to  me.  When 
within  a  few  yards  of  him  he  began  to  snort.  I  sat  down 
and  pulled  grass,  speaking  to  him  all  the  while.  On 
getting  hold  of  the  broken  bridle  rein  I  felt  just  like 
I  did  when  the  soldiers  arrived  in  Wallace,  Idaho, — like 
shouting  hurrah  for  America. 

The  canteen  and  rifle  were  still  on  the  saddle.  The 
water  was  gone — out  of  sight,  just  as  soon  as  the  canteen 
could  be  put  to  my  parched  lips. 

On  mounting  "Glen"  I  gave  him  to  understand,  by 
tickling  him  with  the  spurs,  that  he  couldn't  lag  back 
and  pretend  that  he  was  tired,  as  he  did  an  hour  earlier. 

About  midnight  we  reached  the  slope  of  the  Capitan 
mountains.  Then  "Glen"  was  unsaddled  and  staked  out 
to  a  bush,  and  I  lay  down  on  the  saddle  blanket  with  the 
saddle  for  a  pillow,  and  went  to  sleep. 

Next  morning  at  8  o'clock  we  filled  up  with  water  out 
of  a  large  reservoir  on  the  wagon  road  between  Whke 
Oaks  and  Roswell,  and  at  10:30  A.  M.  we  ate  a  square 
meal  in  the  town  of  White  Oaks. 

As  this  town  had  been  my  headquarters  during  the 
winter  of  1880  and  '81,  when  in  charge  of  a  squad  of 
cowboys  on  trail  of  the  noted  "Billy  the  Kid"  and  his 
desperate  gang  of  outlaws,  I  was  soon  shaking  hands 
with  old  friends.  Among  them  were  Attorney  John  Y. 
Hewett  and  his  partner,  Wm.  Watson,  then  the  well-to-do 
owners  of  the  rich  Old  Abe  gold  mine,  of  White  Oaks. 

Of  course,  Judge  John  Y.  Hewett  and  I  "harked  back" 
to  the  winter  of  1880  when  I  gave  him  his  first  law 
case.  He  had  drifted  into  this  new  mining  camp  and 
had  put  out  a  shingle  as  a  lawyer. 


262  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

During  the  winter  one  of  my  "rangers"  as  they  were 
called  by  the  natives,  got  into  a  shooting  scrape  with 
Sheldon,  the  town  schoolmaster,  and  I  hired  Lawyer 
Hewett  to  defend  my  man,  "Big-foot  Wallace,"  whose 
right  name  was  Frank  Clifford. 

The  trial  came  off  before  Judge  Frank  Lea,  Justice  of 
the  Peace,  and  Hewett  won  his  first  case  by  freeing 
"Big-foot  Wallace." 

But  poor  big-hearted  "Big-foot  Wallace"  became  an 
outlaw  after  quitting  my  outfit  in  Texas  the  following 
summer.  I  still  retain  the  tintype  photo  of  him  sent 
to  me  from  Old  Mexico  after  he  had  shaken  the  dust 
of  Uncle  Sam's  domain  from  his  number  ten  boots.  In 
his  letter  he  bade  me  goodby,  saying  that  in  all  likelihood 
we  would  never  meet  again. 

He  and  Ethan  Allen,  of  White  Oaks,  had  just  held 
up  a  store  and  secured  money  and  jewelry,  at  Los  Lunas, 
New  Mexico,  on  the  Rio  Grande  River.  At  Socorro  a 
posse  of  officers  surrounded  them.  Young  Allen  was 
captured,  but  "Big-foot  Wallace"  made  his  getaway  by 
swimming  his  horse  across  the  raging  Rio  Grande.  The 
officers  dare  not  follow  as  the  river  was  up  and  danger 
ous  for  man  and  beast. 

Young  Allen  was  held  at  Socorro,  the  scene  of  the 
robbery,  and  placed  in  the  town  jail  along  with  a  negro 
criminal,  and  the  same  White  Oaks  schoolmaster,  Shel 
don,  whom  "Big-foot  Wallace"  had  the  shooting  scrape 
with.  Mr.  Sheldon  had  been  on  a  drunk  that  day  and 
was  put  in  jail  to  sober  up. 

That  night  a  mob  of  Mexicans  broke  open  the  jail, 
liberating  the  negro  and  hanging  Mr.  Sheldon  and 


BIGFOOT  WALLACE. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  263 

Ethan  Allen.  They  did  this  to  spite  the  white  "gringos" 
for  hanging  the  Baca  brothers  in  Socorro  a  short  time 
previous.  Of  course,  this  was  tough  on  the  well-educated 
eastern  schoolmaster,  whost  worst  sin  was  a  love  for 
"fire-water."  Had  "Big-foot"  been  captured,  he  too 
would  have  met  the  same  fate,  and  he  and  Sheldon 
could  have  buried  their  hatchet  of  bitter  hatred  while 
the  ropes  were  being  adjusted  about  their  necks.  Such 
was  life  in  the  untamed  west. 

In  White  Oaks  I  also  met  other  old  friends,  among 
them  being  Jones  Taliaferro  and  his  wife.  Also  Dr.  M. 
G.  Paden  and  Paul  Mayer.  The  latter  owned  the  livery 
stable  of  the  town  and  his  brother  was  the  "City" 
Marshal. 

Marshal  Mayer  had  a  complicated  case  on  his  hands, 
and  knowing  me  to  be  a  Dickenson  detective,  he  asked 
that  I  solve  it  for  him. 

A  miner  with  a  sauerkraut  brogue  had  been  paid  off 
the  day  before,  and  put  the  $300  in  a  trunk  in  his  cabin, 
and  while  he  was  up  town  that  night,  some  one  with  an 
axe  broke  in  the  door,  then  broke  the  trunk  open  and 
skipped  with  the  money.  I  told  Mayer  that  I  was  too 
tired  to  do  my  best  as  a  sleuth,  but  that  if  he  would 
bring  "Dutchy's"  partner,  Williams,  of  Irish  extraction, 
to  my  room  at  the  Hotel  Ozane  and  leave  him  locked 
up  with  me,  I  would  do  my  best  to  recover  the  money. 

Williams  stood  on  his  dignity  for  awhile,  then  first 
on  one  foot,  then  the  other,  until  he  became  tired  and 
broke  down.  The  $300  was  turned  over  to  poor 
"Dutchy,"  who  took  the  first  stage  for  the  railroad.  He 
wanted  to  pay  me  for  my  trouble,  but  I  refused  it,  some 
thing  out  of  the  ordinary  for  a  detective. 


264  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

This  gave  me  a  local  standing  as  a  sleuth,  and  quieted 
my  nerves  after  that  hard  ride,  by  swelling  my  head,  thus 
giving  the  blood  more  room  for  circulation. 

Two  days  later  I  started  north,  continuing  on  trail  of 
a  young  Texan  whom  I  will  call  "Cunny"  for  short.  He 
had  been  a  cowboy  for  Bill  Blank  at  his  White 
Mountain  ranch  in  Arizona,  and  had  helped  drive  the 
cattle  which  I  thought  might  be  some  of  the  stolen  steers 
from  the  Indian  Territory  to  Arizona. 

One  hundred  miles  north  of  White  Oaks  I  found 
"Cunny"  in  the  mining  camp  of  San  Pedro.  We  soon 
became  warm  friends  and  I  worked  him  for  all  he  knew, 
without  his  knowing  who  I  was.  But  later  I  told  him 
my  business,  and  our  friendship  continued. 

My  investigation  showed  that  none  of  the  steers  had 
been  driven  to  the  Arizona  ranch.  They  had  been 
stolen  in  a  more  honorable  way,  a  way  that  few  old- 
time  Texas  cattlemen  would  call  stealing.  It  was  on  the 
order  of  horse  trading  in  Texas, — to  the  sharpest  trader 
belong  the  spoils.  In  fact,  many  Texans  would  have 
patted  Bill  Blank  on  the  back  with  "well  done,  Bill  old 
boy." 

The  scheme  was  well  carried  out  from  start  to  finish, 
as  follows: 

Bill  Blank  and  Capt.  Dash  had  laid  the  plot  together, 
so  I  was  informed,  and  my  whole  work  indicated  that 
it  was  true. 

In  the  early  Spring  both  went  to  San  Antonio,  Texas, 
and  bought  each  a  herd  of  steers  from  the  same  ranch 
men,  so  that  the  cattle  would  have  the  same  brands  on 
them.  The  herds  were  put  up  at  the  same  time.  Capt. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  265 

Dash  cut  the  tip  of  both  horns  off,  while  Bill  Blank  cut 
the  tip  of  one  off.  This  was  done  supposedly,  to  tell 
them  apart,  should  they  ever  become  mixed  together, 
as  both  herds  were  bound  for  the  Indian  Territory.  On 
the  Comanche  reservation  both  men  had  secured  leases 
of  a  certain  stretch  of  range,  adjoining  each  other.  Bill 
Blank  had  borrowed  the  money  with  which  to  buy  his 
steers,  giving  a  mortgage  on  a  certain  number  of  cattle 
with  designated  ranch  brands,  and  the  end  of  one  horn 
cut  off.  Being  on  adjoining  ranges  the  two  herds  na 
turally  became  mixed,  and  the  summer  and  fall  was  spent 
by  the  Blank  and  Dash  cowboys  in  cutting  the  remain 
ing  horn  off  the  Bill  Blank  steers,  thus  transferring  them 
from  Blank  to  Dash. 

As  the  steers  waxed  fat  in  the  Fall  Capt.  Dash  had 
many  feeders  to  sell  on  the  eastern  market,  and  the  cow 
boys  were  kept  busy  gathering  to  ship.  When  Capt. 
Dash  was  through  shipping,  Bill  Blank  concluded  to  let 
the  brokers  in  Kansas  City,  who  had  loaned  him  the 
money,  foreclose  the  mortgage,  but  they  couldn't  find 
anything  to  foreclose  on.  Bill  Blank  had  taken  a  back 
seat  from  whence  he  could,  with  a  broad  smile,  view  the 
windup.  And  then  your  humble  servant  came  onto  the 
scene  and  took  a  front  seat,  playing  one  of  the  last  acts 
in  the  drama. 

In  order  to  keep  in  touch  with  "Cunny"  in  case  we 
needed  him  as  a  witness,  I  hired  him  to  take  charge  of 
my  Sunny  Slope  ranch,  a  couple  of  miles  from  Santa 
Fe,  New  Mexico,  which  I  was  fixing  up  for  a  "hobby 
horse"  to  ride  in  my  old  age.  I  really  needed  a  man  to 
run  the  place,  and  by  hiring  "Cunny"  I  could  kill  two 
birds  with  one  stone. 


266  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

It  required  two  days  of  my  valuable  time  to  get 
"Cunny"  pulled  away  from  his  Mexican  sweetheart  in 
San  Pedro. 

Santa  Fe  is  only  forty  miles  north  of  San  Pedro, 
therefore  we  didn't  have  far  to  go.  "Glen"  was  left  on 
my  ranch  in  "Gunny's"  care,  while  I  returned  to  Den 
ver  and  discontinued  the  operation,  after  being  on  it 
about  four  months. 

I  have  never  heard  what  action  our  clients  took  against 
Bill  Blank.  They  may  have  exposed  the  scheme  to 
Blank  and  got  a  partial  settlement,  and  again,  they  may 
have  concluded  to  pocket  their  losses  and  in  future  lock 
their  stable  door  before  the  horse  is  stolen,  especially  if 
old-time  Texas  cowmen  of  the  tricky  horse-trading  kind 
are  prowling  around. 

"Cunny"  was  never  called  on  as  a  witness  against  Bill 
Blank.  He  had  charge  of  my  ranch  for  two  years  and 
then  went  to  mining  on  a  prospect  in  which  I  was  in 
terested.  Thus  he  swore  off  being  a  wild  and  wooly 
cowboy,  and  is  now  a  prosperous  mine  expert  in  the 
booming  gold  districts  of  Nevada. 

Glen  Alpine,  Jr.,  lived  e.  retired  easy  life  on  my  Sunny 
Slope  "hobby-horse"  and  died  at  the  age  of  fifteen, 
though  he  never  quit  the  habit  of  bucking,  even  in  his 
old  age. 

On  one  occasion  he  gave  a  "bloody"  Scotchman  a 
"touch  of  high-life,"  which  was  bloody  in  fact,  at  the 
windup. 

John  Hart,  a  friend  of  mine  from  Denver,  but  now 
living  in  Albuquerque,  New  Mexico,  wanted  the  satis 
faction  of  riding  a  good  horse  once  in  his  life,  so  I  let 
him  ride  "Glen." 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  267 

We  started  from  the  Sunny  Slope  ranch  to  take  a 
forty  mile  ride  to  Bland.  I  was  on  my  pet  mare,  Lula. 

Now,  Hart  was  an  expert  as  a  carpenter  and  contrac 
tor,  but  as  a  bronco  buster  he  proved  a  total  failure 
before  we  had  gone  ten  miles  on  our  journey.  Saying, 
"Come  on  Hart,"  I  started  Lula  off  in  a  swift  gallop.  In 
a  moment  I  looked  back  just  in  time  to  see  poor  Hart 
in  the  air  and  "Glen"  running  towards  me.  Hart  swore 
he  didn't  do  a  thing  but  dig  the  "bloody  hold  'orse"  in 
the  side  with  his  heels,  after  I  had  started.  Having  some 
sticking  plaster  in  my  pocket,  Hart's  face,  hand  and  el 
bow  were  patched  up.  He  said  the  hard  stony  ground 
had  come  up  and  struck  him  before  he  was  ready,  for 
he  figured  that  one-half  of  a  somersault  more  would 
have  saved  his  face  by  landing  him  on  the  fleshy  part 
of  his  pants. 

Hart  rode  Lula  the  balance  of  the  trip. 


CHAPTER  XII 

KANSAS  DAISY  AND  BUTTERFLY  MINE-SALTING  CASES — 
TRAMPING  ON  THE  OREGON  SHORT  LINE  RAILWAY 
COMPANY'S  SYSTEM — A  BIG  ORE-STEALING  CASE  IN 
SALT  LAKE  CITY,  UTAH — TRIP  TO  BRITISH  CO 
LUMBIA — PLAYING  OUTLAW  IN  CRIPPLE  CREEK, 
COLORADO. 

During  the  next  couple  of  years  I  led  a  strenuous  life 
unraveling  ore-stealing  and  mine-salting  cases. 

First  came  the  Kansas  Daisy  case,  of  Prescott,  Arizona. 
A  Mr.  B.  of  that  enterprising  town  had  put  out  a  bait 
and  caught  some  big  fish  in  England.  When  the  afore 
said  big  fish,  who  were  organized  as  the  Anglo-Con 
tinental  Mining  Co.  began  to  smell  a  "mice,"  they  called 
on  the  Dickenson  Agency  to  investigate  and  see  if  their 
corn-crib  really  contained  rats.  Hence,  I  was  sent  to  do 
the  cat  act. 

While  in  Prescott,  and  after  satisfying  ourselves  that 
the  Kansas  Daisy  mine  had  been  salted,  some  mine  ex 
perts,  with  Detective  Willis  A.  Loomis  (now  Chief  of 
Detectives  in  Denver)  to  guard  the  samples  of  ore  until 
safely  in  the  Wells  Fargo  Express  office,  arrived  from 
Denver  to  sample  the  property.  On  these  samples  be 
ing  assayed  in  Denver,  they  showed  an  average  value  of 
$i  per  ton  of  ore,  instead  of  the  $8  per  ton  as  reported 
by  ihe  German  expert  sent  from  London  by  the  com- 

268 


rA  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  269 

pany,  and  on  whose  advice  the  mine  was  bought  at  a 
high  price. 

The  Denver  law  firm  of  Thornes,  Bryan  &  Wye  had 
charge  of  the  work,  and  they  gave  orders  that  I  dig  up 
evidence  as  to  how  the  trick  was  done. 

Finally,  I  went  into  partnership  with  a  saloon  man 
named  Joe  Hobbs,  a  brother-in-law  to  the  noted  Deputy 
United  States  Marshal  Joe  La  Fors,  of  Cheyenne,  Wyom 
ing  (whose  testimony  hung  stock  detective  Tim  Corn), 
and  with  a  miner  named  John  Forbes,  in  the  mining 
business.  We  bonded  a  gold  claim  on  Groom  Creek  and 
started  a  shaft  down  on  the  vein.  I  had  made  the  ac 
quaintance  of  Joe  Hobbs  while  working  on  the  John 
Hillman  operation  in  Jerome,  and  he  knew  me  only  as 
Lee  Roy  Davis.  He  had  a  brother-in-law,  Jeff  La  Fors, 
in  Prescott,  who  gave  me  much  assistance  without  know 
ing  it. 

One  day  in  March  when  the  streets  of  Prescott  were 
covered  with  a  deep  snow,  Alex  G.  and  I  boarded  a  train 
for  Los  Angeles,  California,  there  to  prepare  for  a  trip 
to  Alaska,  as  Mr.  G.  thought. 

Before  departing  from  Prescott,  I  shook  hands  with 
my  many  newly-made  friends,  among  whom  was  "Bucky" 
O'Neil,  afterwards  a  Captain  in  Roosevelt's  Rough 
Riders,  who  was  killed  by  a  bullet  through  his  head  in 
the  charge  up  San  Juan  Hill  in  Cuba. 

Next  morning  Alex  G.  and  I  awoke  in  the  land  of 
roses.  The  contrast  was  indeed  great,  from  deep  snow 
to  roses  in  bloom  on  nearly  every  vacant  lot.  In  Los 
Angeles  we  settled  down  to  a  life  of  ease,  at  the  expense 
of  the  Anglo-Continental  Co.  I  had  been  to  this  city 
before,  but  as  a  bum  tramp  only. 


270  "A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Alex  G.  and  I  made  pleasure  trips  to  all  places  within 
reach  of  Los  Angeles.  We  even  went  to  Tia  Juana,  Old 
Mexico,  and  spent  a  week  or  two  at  San  Diego. 

After  I  had  secured  a  full  confession  from  Alex  G.  as 
to  how  he  and  Mr.  B.  had  salted  the  old  German  ex 
pert's  samples  as  they  were  being  taken  from  the  Kansas 
Daisy  vein,  and  also  after  being  hoisted  to  the  surface 
and  there  sacked  and  sealed,  Attorney  Bryan  arrived 
from  Denver  to  assist  me  in  closing  the  operation;  that 
is,  as  far  as  my  work  was  concerned. 

Attorney  Bryan  and  I  met  to  arrange  for  the  windup. 
I  had  already  planned  most  of  it  in  my  reports  which 
had,  been  read  by  Mr.  Bryan. 

At  10  A.  M.  one  day,  an  officer  of  the  United  States 
Commissioners  Court  arrested  Alex  and  me  in  my  room. 
I  was  indignant  at  the  arrest,  while  Alex  G.  was  fright 
ened.  On  the  way  to  court  Alex  whispered  to  me  not 
to  give  anything  away  which  he  had  told  about  the  Kan 
sas  Daisy. 

When  brought  before  the  United  States  Commissioner 
I  was  put  on  the  stand  first.  Attorney  Bryan  went  at 
me  as  though  he  thought  I  had  worked  on  the  Kansas 
Daisy  at  the  time  of  its  sale,  and  finding  that  I  had  not, 
he  asked  if  I  had  ever  heard  any  one  say  that  the  Kansas 
Daisy  had  been  salted.  I  kept  avoiding  the  question  and 
wouldn't  give  a  direct  answer,  as  though  I  didn't  want 
to  give  Alex  G.  away.  He  frowned  at  me  once,  as  much 
as  to  warn  me  to  "stand  pat."  But  finally  Mr.  Bryan 
pinned  me  to  the  wall  so  that  I  had  to  answer  yes  or  no. 
Then  I  had  to  admit  that  Alex,  G.  had  told  me  all  about 
the  way  he  and  Mr.  B.  had  salted  the  samples.  When  I 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  271 

started  to  tell  the  truth,  Alex  turned  pale  and  became 
nervous. 

After  finishing  my  testimony,  Alex  was  put  on  the 
stand,  and  just  as  I  had  guessed,  he  confessed  the  whole 
crime  rather  than  make  me  out  a  liar  and  ruin  his  chances 
of  the  trip  to  Alaska.  He  made  a  sworn  confession,  which 
implicated  Mr.  B.  and  made  the  German  expert  an  "easy 
mark." 

Soon  after  my  return  to  Denver,  this  same  old  German 
expert  got  caught  with  another  salty  fish-line,  which 
caused  the  Anglo-Continental  Mining  Co.  a  heavy  loss. 
Mr.  A.,  of  Denver,  had  baited  the  hook,  and  the  Swede 
saloon  keeper,  Knute  Benson,  of  Silverton,  Colorado, 
who  owned  the  Butterfly  mine,  did  the  rest.  When  the 
$20,000  mill  was  completed  and  started  up,  it  was  found 
that  they  had  no  mine. 

The  honest,  easy-going  old  German  expert  had  been 
salted  again,  and  I  was  sent  to  Silverton  to  work  on  the 
saloon  man,  Benson.  He  and  I  became  chummy  and 
made  several  trips  out  in  the  mountains.  He  said  that 
he  went  into  the  deal  so  as  to  get  a  $20,000  mill  put  up 
free;  that  he  knew  the  company  would  forfeit  it  ac 
cording  to  the  contract,  rather  than  pay  the  balance  of 
the  purchase  money,  and  then  he  and  Mr.  A.  would 
develop  a  pay  mine  to  furnish  ore  for  their  mill. 

We  failed  to  secure  evidence  enough  to  convict  any 
one,  so  the  Anglo-Continental  Co.  lost  what  they  had 
invested,  unless  they  possibly  squeezed  something  out 
of  A.  and  Benson,  on  the  strength  of  my  reports.  I 
never  learned  how  the  matter  came  out,  except  that  I 
heard  the  mine  and  mill  fell  back  to  Mr.  Benson,  and 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

that  the  German  expert  washed  his  hands  of  the  whole 
American  continent. 

I  had  been  on  this  case  a  couple  of  months,  and  on 
the  Kansas  Daisy  about  four  or  five  months. 

About  this  time  another  tramp  operation  fell  to  my 
lot.  It  was  on  the  whole  system  of  the  Oregon  Short 
Line  Ry.  in  Wyoming,  Utah,  Idaho,  Montana  and  Ore 
gon.  The  work  was  being  done  for  the  manager  of  that 
company.  Mr.  Roycroft  of  Salt  Lake  City,  Older 
Galvan,  and  Mr.  Vanderman,  officials  of  the  road,  also 
had  a  hand  in  the  operation. 

On  this  work  I  had  several  narrow  escapes  from 
death,  once  from  a  wreck,  when  the  end  of  a  box  car  in 
which  I  was  riding  was  smashed  in,  and  another  time 
in  Idaho  an  angry  brakeman  came  very  near  kicking  me 
off  a  freight  train  while  running  twenty-five  miles  an 
hour.  It  was  a  cold  night,  and  I  was  lying  face  down 
on  top  of  a  box  car  to  shield  myself  from  the  cold  wind 
that  was  blowing.  He  slipped  up  on  me  and  gave  me  a 
kick  in  the  ribs  which  nearly  sent  me  rolling  off  the  car. 
In  an  instant  my  hand  was  on  old  Colts  45,  and  I  thought 
seriously  of  shooting  the  fellow,  but  satisfied  my  wounded 
feelings  by  calling  him  all  the  pet  names  in  the  cowboy 
dictionary  which  has  never  been  printed. 

He  slowed  the  train  down  so  that  I  could  get  off,  but  I 
made  him  stop  it  to  a  standstill.  We  were  both  stand 
ing  on  top  the  car,  and  he  was  kept  at  a  distance  by 
threats  of  killing  him.  I  didn't  propose  to  have  a  wrest 
ling  match  in  a  place  of  that  kind. 

A  week  or  two  later,  I  caught  this  same  "brakey"  by 
being  with  a  squad  of  bums.  He  didn't  recognize  me, 
and  we  all  paid  him  for  a  ride  to  the  end  of  his  run. 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  273 

While  I  was  on  this  bum  operation,  deals  were  made 
for  whole  box  car  loads  of  sheepshearers,  and  often 
I  would  be  one  of  them.  We  would  be  packed  like 
sardines  when  the  crowd  was  large,  so  as  to  get  us  all 
into  one  box  car,  then  the  door  would  be  fastened  from 
the  outside.  A  fine  chance  for  a  jumbled-up  mess  of 
human  hash,  in  case  of  a  bad  wreck.  With  the  freight 
crews  this  traffic  in  sheepshearers  was  fine  "picking" 
from  a  financial  standpoint,  for  they  traveled  from  place 
to  place  in  droves,  a  mixture  of  all  nationalities,  even  to 
the  chili-eating  sons  of  old  Montezuma.  The  fares  were 
$J  apiece  for  each  division. 

While  on  this  operation  I  visited  the  great  Mormon 
Jubilee,  the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  the  settlement  of  Utah 
in  Salt  Lake  City.  It  was  a  free  show  which  beat  any 
thing  I  had  ever  seen.  Every  Mormon  in  the  State  who 
could  raise  the  "price"  was  there. 

On  the  day  of  the  big  street  parade  I  had  the  ex 
perience  of  knowing  how  a  hobo  feels  when  he  falls  in 
love. 

I  was  standing  on  the  sidewalk  in  the  hot  sun,  trying 
to  get  a  view  of  the  parade  in  the  middle  of  the  street. 
Directly  in  front  of  me  stood  a  beautiful  young  lady. 
She  was  small,  and  I  could  have  seen  the  parade  over 
her  head  if  it  hadn't  been  for  her  silk  umbrella.  I  finally 
became  impatient,  and  tapping  her  on  the  shoulder,  asked 
if  she  wouldn't  let  me  hold  her  umbrella  so  that  I  could 
get  a  view.  She  turned  square  around  and  faced  me. 
Then  was  when  Cupid  first  got  in  his  work.  Up  to  this 
time,  I  had  not  seen  her  pretty  face.  She  looked  me  in 
the  eyes,  then  glanced  down  at  my  dirty  and  ragged 

18 


274  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

clothes.  I  smiled  and  said:  "You  need  have  no  fear 
of  me  stealing  your  umbrella.  All  I  want  is  to  make 
the  umbrella  do  double  duty  by  shielding  both  of  us  from 
the  sun,  and  at  the  same  time  allow  me  to  see  the  parade." 

She  gave  me  the  umbrella.  Soon  she  became  talka 
tive,  and  explained  some  of  the  interesting  sights  in 
the  parade.  Among  them  being  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Watson, 
sitting  on  the  deck  of  the  Brookline — a  ship  that  repre 
sented  the  one  that  brought  her  aunt  over  the  ocean. 
Hence,  I  concluded  that  this  pretty  little  lady  might  be 
named  Watson.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  ask  her 
name,  but  just  then  a  "Weary  Willie"  chum  of  mine 
stepped  up  saying:  "Say,  Cully,  drop  dat  rag — meaning 
the  umbrella — and  I'll  steer  you  to  a  joint  where  they 
sell  two  whopping  big  schooners  (glasses  of  beer)  for  a 
nickel." 

Turning  around  and  seeing  my  unwashed  and  ragged 
churn  the  lady  reached  for  her  "rag,"  and  at  the  same 
time  gave  me  a  look  with  her  pretty  dark  eyes  which 
froze  little  Cupid  to  a  "stand  still." 

That  night  while  riding  in  a  box  car  loaded  with  hobos 
I  vowed  this  would  be  my  last  tramp  operation,  for  I 
had  had  more  than  my  share  of  that  kind  of  work.  I  had 
made  one  hobo  test  on  the  D.  &  R.  G.  Ry.  system,  in  ad 
dition  to  the  ones  recorded  herein. 

I  arrived  in  Denver  after  being  absent  about  two 
months. 

Later,  I  was  told  of  how  on  the  strength  of  my  re 
ports,  every  freight  brakeman  between  Salt  Lake  and 
Butte  City,  except  one  who  was  in  the  hospital,  got 
"fired"  from  the  Oregon  Short  Line  service.  Also  many 
freight  conductors  and  engineers  "got  it  in  the  neck." 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  275 

Tramping  on  a  railroad  is  a  fine  schooling  for  a  de 
tective,  but  very  tough  on  one's  sensitive  nature;  hence 
only  one  in  twenty  operatives  make  a  success  at  playing 
hobo. 

These  train  crews  had  been  "coining"  money,  and 
they  had  become  so  greedy  that  often  a  poor  hobo  who 
was  known  to  be  sick  and  out  of  money,  would  be  put 
off  the  train  between  stations  on  the  desert,  just  because 
he  refused  to  give  up  some  little  relic,  such  as  a  ring, 
watch  or  pin,  possibly  remembrances  from  dear  ones 
at  home.  The  "brakeys"  would  even  take  pocketknives 
for  fares.  It  seems  that  greed  for  the  "almighty  dol 
lar"  is  planted  in  some  bosoms,  be  they  high  up  in  the 
social  swim  or  low  down  in  the  muddy  pool.  But  in 
my  tramp  work  I  have  found  hundreds  of  "brakeys" 
whose  hearts  would  melt  at  my  pitiful  tale  of  woe  of 
being  flat  broke.  Some  have  even  offered  me  money  to 
buy  a  square  meal,  besides  giving  me  the  free  ride. 

Next  I  was  detailed  to  go  to  Salt  Lake  City,  Utah,  to 
assist  operative  Billy  S.  on  an  ore-stealing  case  which 
he  had  been  working  on  for  a  couple  of  months.  Billy 
S.  had  made  himself  "solid"  with  one  of  the  leaders  who 
were  stealing  ore  by  the  wholesale,  but  as  yet  he  had  no 
positive  evidence. 

I  landed  in  Salt  Lake  City,  the  big  town  with  wide 
streets  and  pretty  swift  girls,  as  an  outlaw  from  New 
Mexico  and  Texas.  My  name  was  Lee  Roy  Davis.  As 
on  outlaw  I  didn't  go  to  killing  men,  but  I  soon  had  some 
of  the  gang  afraid  of  me.  Once  when  I  had  filled  up 
on  "puss  cafe"  in  the  New  Resort  saloon,  with  Billy 
Best  as  mixologist,  I  made  the  gang  think  I  was  on  the 


276  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

warpath.  I  pulled  out  my  old  Colts  45,  and  striking  the 
table  with  it,  declared  I  was  a  wolf  and  that  that  was  my 
night  to  howl.  The  result  was,  Billy  S.  had  to  help  pull 
Joe  Buttinski  out  from  under  the  table  and  assure  him 
that  I  wasn't  as  bad  as  I  looked 

To  illustrate  the  splendid  memory  of  some  men,  I 
will  cite  the  case  of  an  ex-cowboy  by  the  name  of  O.  D. 
Brown,  who  is  a  trusted  official  in  the  Salt  Lake  City 
postoffice.  On  first  arriving  in  the  city,  I  called  at  the 
postoffice  to  ask  for  Lee  Roy  Diavis'  mail.  Brown  stuck 
his  hand  through  the  window  and  said:  "Hello  there, 
Charlie  Siringo,  shake."  I  told  him  my  name  was  Davis. 
He  replied  that  he  would  remember  the  name  and  forget 
my  right  one.  He  then  told  where  we  had  run  cattle  to 
gether  in  Texas,  over  20  years  before.  Then  I  remem 
bered  him  and  shook  his  hand. 

We  were  together  many  times  during  my  couple  of 
months  stay,  end  he  thought  because  I  had  committed  a 
crime,  was  why  I  had  changed  my  name.  Of  course, 
this  didn't  sit  well  on  my  pride,  but  I  thought  it  best  to 
let  matters  remain  as  they  were. 

Brown  finally  secured  me  a  fine  job  to  take  charge  of 
a  mule  train  for  a  friend  of  his  in  Peru.  I  was  to  ac 
company  the  mules  on  the  ship  and  become  one  of  them, 
as  it  were.  In  introducing  me  to  this  friend,  Brown 
told  him  that  I  was  just  the  man  he  wanted,  as  I  could 
ride  anything  that  wore  hair,  talk  Mexican,  and  could 
be  trusted.  Both  were  greatly  disappointed  when  I  de 
clined  the  position  at  any  price.  Brown  took  me  to  one 
side  and  said  I  was  making  a  mistake  by  leading  a  wild 
life  and  remaining  here  where  I  might  be  captured  any 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  277 

time.  I  told  him  that  I  would  rather  be  in  the  peniten 
tiary  in  America  than  associating  with  mules  in  a  Peru, 
South  America,  mining  camp. 

In  the  course  of  a  month  or  so,  Billy  S.  and  I  be 
gan  to  note  results  from  the  tons  of  beer  and  liquor  con 
sumed  while  with  the  gang.  Often  Billy  S.  and  I  would 
make  night  raids  on  a  sampler  or  a  smelter  to  get  sam 
ples  of  the  stolen  ore-pile,  which  was  called  the  "Jessie," 
by  the  ore  thieves.  Then  again,  we  would  break  the 
seals  on  cars  loaded  with  stolen  ore,  so  as  to  get  samples 
as  evidence. 

On  one  of  these  night  raids  into  a  carload  of  stolen 
ore,  I  flim-flammed  our  client,  Banker  Z.  B.  James,  a 
reputed  millionaire,  who  also  owned  mines  and  a  smelter. 
We  would  notify  Mr.  James  on  what  nights  these  raids 
were  to  be  made,  and  he  would  sit  up  at  his  residence 
waiting  for  us.  In  his  presence,  the  samples  would  be 
marked  so  that  we  could  identify  them  in  court. 

In  order  to  mark  a  chunk  of  ore  different  from  the 
rest,  I  asked  Mr.  James  for  a  silver  dollar  to  mark  it 
with.  He  gave  me  the  dollar,  and  when  through  with 
it  I  put  it  in  my  own  pocket,  and  on  reaching  the  street 
Billy  S.  remarked  that  I  was  the  slickest  daylight  thief 
he  had  ever  seen.  We  had  a  big  laugh  over  the  mat 
ter,  and  at  the  New  Resort  saloon  the  dollar  was  blown 
in  for  mint  juleps,  and  they  tasted  sweeter  "all  same" 
stolen  watermelons. 

Of  course,  there  was  no  necessity  of  my  stealing  this 
dollar  from  Banker  James,  as  he  was  a  liberal  client,  and 
allowed  us  to  spend  "all  kinds"  of  money  for  drinks  and 
high  living.  But  I  wanted  to  play  "foxy"  and  flim-flam 


378  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

a  millionaire  banker  before  his  own  eyes,  and  it  was  done 
so  easily  I  told  Billy  S.  that  next  time  I  would  get  a 
$5  gold  piece  out  of  him. 

A  couple  of  nights  later  we  made  another  raid,  and  I 
asked  Mr.  James  for  a  $5  gold,  piece  to  mark  a  certain 
piece  or  ore,  so  that  the  marks  would  be  yellow.  He  gave 
me  the  gold  piece,  but  when  I  had  finished,  his  strong 
right  hand  was  extended  ready  to  receive  back  his  five 
gold  "plunks."  Of  course,  it  was  returned  as  though  I 
had  no  intention  of  keeping  it.  I  caught  Billy  S.'s  eye 
and  he  was  grinning  like  a  'possum  eating  yaller- jackets. 
This  time  it  was  "foxy"  James  instead  of  "foxy"  yours 
truly.  No  doubt  he  had  noticed  me  put  the  silver  dollar 
in  my  pocket,  hence  concluded  to  keep  a  string  on  the 
gold  piece. 

After  a  couple  of  months'  work,  we  had  sufficient  proof 
to  land  half  a  dozen  men  in  the  penitentiary,  one  wealthy 
man  among  them.  This  big  fish  had  a  nice  family  who 
swam  in  the  same  social  pool  with  Banker  James,  and 
Mr.  James  hated  to  injure  the  family.  Therefore,  he  con 
cluded  to  make  out  a  bill  for  the  many  thousands  of  dol 
lars'  worth  of  ore  stolen,  and  for  the  expenses  incurred 
by  Billy  S.  and  me,  and  present  it  for  payment,  the  bill 
to  be  backed  up  with  the  proof  of  guilt.  If  paid,  mat 
ters  would  be  dropped  with  a  warning  to  sin  no  more, 
especially  against  the  James'  family.  But  if  he  failed 
to  toe  the  mark,  then  the  services  of  Billy  S.  and  myself 
would  be  required  longer.  A  settlement  was  no  doubt 
made.  Mr.  James  told  us  with  one  of  his  broad-gauge 
smiles,  which  denoted  victory,  that  our  work  was  ended 
and  we  could  return  to  Denver. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  279 

In  this  case  one  big  fish  instead  of  swallowing  the  lit 
tle  fishes  saved  a  lot  of  little  ones  from  going  to  the  "pen." 

On  arriving  in  Denver,  I  got  a  jolt  which  shook  my 
globe-trotting  desires  to  the  very  foundation. 

I  had  been  receiving  letters  from  Supt.  McCartney  for 
the  past  three  weeks,  asking  if  I  couldn't  crowd  the  Salt 
Lake  City  operation  and  finish  it  up  soon,  so  as  to  re 
turn  to  Denver,  as  he  needed  me.  I  would  answer  back 
that  the  work  couldn't  be  hurried,  which  was  a  lie  of  the 
deepest  dye.  The  truth  was,  we  could  have  closed  the 
work  two  weeks  sooner  than  we  did.  But  I  didn't  know 
but  that  he  had  another  tramp  operation  for  me.  I  didn't 
believe  in  dropping  a  good  thing  so  long  as  it  could  be 
held  onto  without  injuring  the  Agency. 

Mr.  McCartney  informed  me  that  my  friend,  W.  O. 
Sayles,  had  started  two  days  before  for  New  York  City, 
there  to  ship  for  London,  England,  to  meet  our  clients, 
and  from  there  go  to  South  Africa  to  work  up  a  big  ore- 
stealing  case,  which  would  take  a  year  or  two,  and  that 
the  New  York  office  and  Mr.  Roy  J.  Dickenson  had 
selected  me  for  the  operation  and  had  been  waiting  on 
me  for  nearly  a  month,  but  that  the  clients  in  London 
got  tired  of  waiting,  and  then  Sayles  was  detailed  to  go. 
He  was  allowed  to  take  along  another  operative,  Hiram 
Oker,  to  help  him. 

My  bones  ached  for  a  week  on  account  of  losing  this 
trip  to  Europe.  , 

Next,  I  was  sent  to  British  Columbia  to  run  down  a 
George  H.,  who  had  salted  a  mine  in  Old  Mexico.  Mr. 
Wheezer  being  the  victim,  and  Thornes,  Bryant  &  Wye 
being  our  clients. 


280  A    COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

It  would  require  too  much  space  to  record  my  many 
ups  and  downs  in  British  Columbia  trying  to  find  a  trace 
of  Geo.  H. 

On  the  way  to  Ft.  Steele  after  leaving  the  head  of 
Lake  Kootenai,  I  had  a  tussle  with  a  blizzard  when  the 
thermometer  registered  forty  degrees  below  zero.  It  was 
December.  I  was  in  an  open  cutter  and  for  twenty-eight 
miles  the  wind  kept  whistling  a  tune  through  my  whis 
kers,  which  sounded  like:  "Say,  old  boy  why  didn't 
you  save  your  summer's  wages  and  buy  an  overcoat?" 
I  had  on  only  a  light  leather  frock  coat.  This  pure  and 
innocent  new-born  blizzard  from  the  frozen  north  would 
never  have  asked  the  question,  had  it  known  of  the  many 
inducements  for  spending  a  summer's  wages  in  Salt 
Lake  City.  It  may  have  frolicked  behind  the  curtains  in 
an  Eskimo  Indian  village,  but  that  isn't  sporting  by 
gaslight  in  the  Mormon  capital. 

Finally  I  decided  to  end  this  wild  goose  chase  in  the 
region  of  the  North  Pole,  and  start  right  by  going  to 
California  and  working  on  the  relatives  of  Geo.  H's  wife. 
This  had  been  tried,  without  success,  but  not  by  yours 
truly. 

At  the  foot  of  Mt.  Shasta,  the  snow-capped  mountain 
of  northern  California,  in  Siskiyou  county  I  landed  in 
a  sleepy  little  town  called  Gazelle.  I  put  up  in  an  old 
fashioned  country  hotel  with  a  large  fireplace  and  plenty 
of  wood  to  feed  the  fire  which  was  kept  burning  night 
and  day.  This  country  hotel  was  the  home  of  the  Ed- 
son  brothers,  wealthy  cattlemen.  It  was  here  that  Geo. 
H.  formerly  lived  and  married  one  of  Siskiyou  county's 
pretty  daughters.  The  parents  of  Geo.  H.'s  wife  lived 
on  a  ranch  in  this  county  and  so  did  a  married  sister. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  281 

I  spent  a  couple  of  days  roasting  my  shins  before  the 
log  fire  and  getting  my  breath  after  those  cold  rides 
in  the  north.  And  while  doing  so,  I  hobnobbed  with 
English  royalty  in  the  person  of  a  royal  son,  or  grand 
son,  of  Lord  Nelson,  the  Dewey  of  England.  He  was  a 
fine  young  man,  and  was  on  a  bear  hunt  around  the 
world.  I  happened  to  see  him  kill  a  neighbor's  pet  coon 
by  mistake  as  he  swore  to  the  enraged  rancher;  but 
whether  he  mistook  it  for  a  bear  or  a  wildcat,  I  never 
knew. 

Finally  I  put  spurs  to  my  two  by  four  brain  and 
started  out  to  work  on  the  sister  of  Geo.  H.'s  wife. 

A  short  ride  on  the  train  brought  me  to  the  town  of 
Montague.  Tw.o  miles  from  that  town  was  the  ranch  of 
the  lady's  husband.  He  owned  a  valuable  ranch  well 
stocked  with  cattle.  We  will  call  him  "Huze,"  for  short. 

The  night  was  dark,  and  it  was  8 130  p.  M.  when  I  stood 
at  the  front  gate  of  "Huze's"  residence  in  the  country. 
I  aimed  to  get  there  late  so  they  would  have  to  keep 
me  over  night.  The  only  light  in  the  house  was  in  the 
kitchen  in  the  rear  of  the  building.  My  mind  was  so 
taken  up  with  the  operation  that  I  forgot  about  dogs.  In 
slipping  around  to  a  man's  back  door,  I  generally  have 
one  hand  on  old  Colts  45,  but  not  so  this  night.  Just 
as  I  turned  the  corner  of  the  house  and  was  within  10 
feet  of  the  kitchen  door,  here  came  a  Siberian  blood 
hound,  which  loomed  up  like  a  mustang  in  a  fog.  She 
was  as  large  as  a  good-sized  colt.  She  had  sprung  out 
of  a  dog  house  in  a  corner  of  the  back  yard.  I  did  a 
double  stunt  with  lighting  rapidity, — sprang  for  the 
kitchen  door,  turning  the  knob  with  my  left  hand  and 


283  'A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

pulling  old  Colts  45  with  the  right.  The  door  was  slam 
med  in  the  dog's  face,  just  in  the  nick  of  time  to  prevent 
a  tragedy.  The  dog  had  thrown  her  weight  against  the 
door,  and  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  close  it.  She  was 
growling  and  raving. 

As  soon  as  the  catch  snapped  in  the  door,  my  pistol 
was  back  in  its  place  out  of  sight,  and  I  faced  the  big 
fat  man  and  his  small  young  wife.  Both  were  on  their 
feet  and  thunderstruck.  I  begged  their  pardon  for  in 
truding  so  suddenly.  The  lady  replied  that  it  was  lucky 
I  did,  as  the  "doggy"  would  have  eaten  me  up  alive, 
as  she  had  pups  and  was  more  vicious  than  usual. 

After  introducing  myself  as  a  Texan  who  had  made  a 
little  fortune  in  mining,  and  who  was  in  search  of  a  good 
cattle  ranch,  I  told  of  how  people  in  Montague  had  re 
ferred  me  to  them  as  wanting  to  sell  out.  "Huze"  re 
plied  that  he  would  sell  if  he  could  get  his  price,  which 
was  'way  up  into  the  thousands.  I  informed  him  that  if 
the  place  suited  I  wouldn't  stand  back  for  the  sake  of 
a  few  thousand  dollars,  more  or  less. 

Then  I  was  invited  to  stay  all  night  and  examine  the 
ranch  and  stock  next  day.  By  10  P.M.  the  fat  man  was 
dozing  after  reading  a  newspaper,  and  the  little  lady 
and  I  were  going  over  the  family  album  which  I  had 
picked  up  from  the  table.  She  pointed  out  her  two  sis 
ters'  photographs,  one  being  married  and  the  other  sin 
gle.  The  single  sister  was  actually  pretty,  and  I  told 
her  so.  I  asked  where  she  lived  and  she  hesitated  as 
though  not  wanting  to  answer.  I  broke  the  strain  by 
asking  if  she  was  now  in  California.  She  replied  no,  that 
she  was  with  her  other  married  sister  up  in  British  Co- 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  283 

lumbia.  I  looked  her  in  the  face  and  asked  what  part 
of  British  Columbia,  as  I  had  made  my  stake  mining  up 
there.  She  replied:  "Oh  they  live  near  Victoria."  I 
said :  "Why  that's  where  I'm  going  to  close  up  my  min 
ing  deal.  Maybe  I'll  see  them  up  there.  What's  their 
names?"  The  names  were  given,  then  I  questioned  her 
as  to  the  particular  place  they  lived  at.  She  acted  as 
though  she  didn't  want  to  tell,  but  the  questions  were 
so  pointed  that  she  couldn't  avoid  answering  without 
taking  chances  of  insulting  me,  and  thereby  losing  a 
possible  sale  of  their  ranch  and  stock. 

After  finding  out  that  Geo.  H.  and  his  wife  and  her 
pretty  young  sister  lived  in  Alberni,  an  Indian  village  on 
the  Alberni  canal,  a  couple  of  days'  travel  by  steamer 
from  Victoria,  the  Capital  of  British  Columbia,  my  day's 
work  was  finished  and  I  was  ready  for  bed.  The  fat  man 
showed  me  to  my  room  upstairs  about  up.  M.,  and 
I  was  soon  stretched  out  between  white  sheets,  dreaming 
of  my  coming  trip  to  Vancouver  Island,  British  Columbia. 

The  next  day  Mr.  "Huze"  and  I  rode  over  the  ranch, 
and  I  expressed  great  delight  in  everything  and  de 
clared  that  I  would  purchase  the  place  providing  my 
brother  liked  it;  that  we  were  going  into  partnership 
in  the  stock  business,  hence  I  would  have  to  wait  a  few 
weeks  for  this  brother  to  join  me. 

A  week  was  spent  at  Gazelle  and  Montague,  and  I 
made  the  acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Geo.  H.'s  parents.  They 
were  nice  folks  and  had  one  son  who  has  attained  dis 
tinction  in  South  Africa  as  a  mining  engineer. 

A  few  days  before  Christmas,  "Huze"  and  I  took  a 
trip  to  San  Francisco,  and  I  have  never  seen  him  since 
we  separated  in  that  city. 


284  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Finally  I  took  passage  for  Seattle,  Washington,  by  rail, 
thence  by  steamer  to  Victoria,  British  Columbia.  In 
Victoria  I  took  passage  on  a  dumpy  little  steamer  which 
was  loaded  to  the  guards,  for  Alberni.  On  the  ocean 
along  the  southern  border  of  Vancouver  Island,  we  ex 
perienced  rough  seas  and  squally  weather.  About  half 
of  the  time  the  little  steamer  was  almost  standing  on  end, 
and  I  expected  to  see  her  turn  upside  down  any  moment. 
Seasick,  did  you  whisper?  Well,  I  reckon  yes!  The 
few  hours  sail  up  the  Alberni  canal  was  delightful,  after 
the  rough  ocean  trip. 

There  was  a  "white  folks' "  hotel  in  the  Indian  village 
of  Alberni,  and  my  headquarters  were  established  in  it. 
There  were  only  two  star  boarders  at  the  hotel  until  my 
arrival,  then  there  were  three  of  us  who  could  order  eggs 
for  breakfast  without  danger  of  raising  the  roof  from 
the  house.  One  of  the  star  boarders  was  Judge  Keenie, 
and  the  other  his  "niece;"  "quien  sabe,"  as  a  Mexican 
would  say,  for  who  knows. 

The  Judge  was  a  tall,  preacher-looking  old  gentleman, 
and  evidently  he  was  a  fine  man.  I  used  him  for  a  cat's 
paw  to  pull  my  chestnuts  out  of  the  fire.  I  soon  learned 
that  he  was  a  particular  friend  of  Geo.  H.,  who  was 
operating  a  mine  about  twenty  miles  from  Alberni. 
Judge  Keenie  had  practiced  law  for  years  in  Socorro, 
New  Mexico,  hence  he  and  I  found  much  to  talk  about, 
as  I  knew  many  of  his  friends  and  a  few  of  his  enemies. 

Finally  Judge  Keenie  took  me  on  a  visit  to  Geo.  H. 
and  his  family.  They  had  a  nice  home  near  the  mine, 
in  which  quite  a  force  of  men  worked,  and  the  mine 
which  Geo.  H.  had  bought,  no  doubt  with  the  money 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  285 

secured  from  our  clients,  had  the  ear-marks  of  being  a 
good  one.  Some  ore  was  being  shipped  every  week  or 
two  on  a  steamer  to  the  smelter  in  Tacoma,  Washington. 

Several  visits  were  made  to  the  Geo.  H.  mine  during 
the  next  few  weeks.  Finally  he  and  his  family  moved 
to  Victoria  and  put  up  at  a  swell  hotel  there.  Of  course, 
I  followed  suit  and  made  my  home  in  Victoria  also.  I 
had  never  told  of  my  visit  to  their  old  home  in  Siskiyou 
County,  California.  In  fact,  I  wasn't  supposed  to  be  the 
same  man  who  met  "Huze,"  as  I  had  adopted  a  new 
name. 

Valuable  real  estate  belonging  to  Geo.  H.  in  California 
was  located,  and  with  the  valuable  mine  on  Vancouver 
Island,  our  clients  felt  safe,  so  far  as  getting  their 
money  back  when  the  time  came  for  bringing  suit,  and 
until  that  time  Geo.  H.  would  be  kept  track  of  by  our 
Agency,  who  have  "correspondents"  in  all  cities  and 
towns  where  they  have  no  regular  offices. 

Finally,  towards  Spring,  I  returned  to  Denver  and  its 
glorious  sunshine.  During  my  stay  on  Vancouver  Is 
land,  I  saw  the  sun  only  a  few  times.  But  while  Denver 
beats  on  sunshine,  Victoria  holds  the  winning  hand  on 
lack  of  graft  and  political  corruption,  and  for  just  laws, 
rightfully  administered. 

I  never  heard  how  Geo.  H.  came  out  in  his  war  with 
our  clients. 

My  next  important  out-of-the-city  operation  was  an 
ore-stealing  case. 

One  morning  Supt.  McCartney  called  me  into  his 
private  office  and  told  me  that  he  had  a  hard  nut  for 
me  to  crack,  and  that  he  would  depend  on  me  crack- 


286  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

ing  it,  although  one  of  his  good  operatives  had  already 
failed. 

A  Mr.  R.  B.  Bursell  had  become  tired  of  paying  our 
regular  rates  of  $8  per  day  and  all  expenses  for  the 
services  of  an  operative,  with  no  chance  of  success.  Hence 
he  wrote  to  Supt.  McCartney  advising  that  the  operation 
be  called  off.  But  Mr.  McCartney  asked  for  a  chance 
to  try  yours  truly  for  a  week  or  two. 

With  old  clothes  on,  I  landed  in  Victor,  one  of  the  big 
towns  in  the  Cripple  Creek  mining  district,  and  in  just 
one  week  I  had  secured  a  confession  from  Geo.  Shaul 
and  Young  Wilson,  as  to  how  they  stole  Mr.  Bursell's 
$2,000  worth  of  rich  ore  which  was  in  sacks  ready  for 
shipment. 

Geo.  Shaul  was  an  expert  safe  blower  and  bad  man 
generally.  He  was  known  to  be  one  of  the  worst  ore 
thieves  in  the  Cripple  Creek  district,  but  he  was  too  slick 
to  get  caught. 

In  order  to  make  myself  solid  with  Shaul  and  Wilson 
and  their  associates,  I  "shot  up"  the  town  of  Victor 
one  night.  I  supposed  that  I  had  made  my  "getaway," 
but  towards  morning  my  castle  was  stormed  by  the  got- 
rich-quick  Mayor,  Millionaire  Jimmie  Doyle,  and  his 
mob  of  policemen.  My  door  was  broken  down  and  I 
landed  in  jail. 

Before  arresting  Shaul  and  Wilson,  the  Sheriff  of 
El  Paso  County,  "Win"  Boynton,  secured  permission 
from  my  Supt.  J.  S.  Kaiser,  and  Gen.  Supt.  McCartney, 
to  let  me  unearth  a  murder  case  in  Goldfield,  wherein 
a  saloon  proprietor  and  one  of  his  guests  were  shot 
down  in  cold  blood  one  night  in  an  attempt  to  rob  the 
place. 


287 

I  put  in  a  month  on  this  murder  case,  and  associated 
with  Shaul  and  his  gang  of  cut-throats  constantly. 

A  few  days  before  I  was  ready  to  close  the  operation, 
a  blackmailing  detective  by  the  name  of  Hawkins  gave 
me  away  to  the  gang,  on  the  sly.  He  and  I  had  done 
some  work  for  Attorney  Goudy,  of  Colorado  Springs, 
several  years  before.  He  had  recognized  me. 

"Baldy  Bob"  and  his  gang  had  a  plan  laid  to  murder 
me  and  throw  my  body  into  an  old  abandoned  shaft; 
but  Nelly  Taylor,  a  tough  dance  hall  "girl,"  put  me  on 
my  guard,  as  she  couldn't  believe  me  low  down  enough 
to  be  a  detective.  Thus  my  "bacon"  was  saved  by  a 
scratch. 

At  the  trials  in  Colorado  Springs,  with  me  as  the  star 
witness,  Geo.  Shaul  and  Wilson  received  a  sentence  to 
the  penitentiary  of  six  years  each  for  stealing  the  Rus 
sell  ore,  and  "Baldy  Bob"  got  a  life  sentence  for  the 
murder  of  the  two  men  in  Goldfield. 

After  being  sentenced,  Geo.  Shaul  jumped  out  of  a 
two-story  window  at  the  jail  and  with  a  broken  leg  made 
his  way  back  to  Cripple  Creek  where  two  days  later  he 
was  found  almost  at  the  point  of  death  in  an  old  cabin. 
He  got  well  and  served  his  sentence  out. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A  LAWSUIT  IN  BENT  COUNTY,  COLORADO — A  BIG  MURDER 
CASE  IN  BENKELMAN,  NEBRASKA — ERNEST  BUSH 
SENT  TO  THE  PENITENTIARY  FOR  LIFE. 

Soon  after  arriving  back  in  Denver  I  was  detailed  on 
a  coal  case  to  be  tried  in  Las  Animas,  Colorado.  Our 
clients  were  the  Colorado  Matte  and  Ore  Co.,  and  my 
work  was  against  the  Victor  Fuel  Co. 

I  was  especially  instructed  to  get  in  solid  with  the 
sheriff  of  the  county,  Las  Animas  being  the  county  seat. 
This  I  did  in  fine  shape,  through  playing  myself  off  as  a 
Texas  cattleman  who  had  a  herd  of  steers  on  the  trail 
for  Las  Animas. 

The  case  had  been  fought  in  this  and  other  counties 
of  the  state  before,  and  the  population  were  more  or  less 
divided  as  to  which  company  was  right  and  which  was 
wrong. 

Mr.  Delos  A.  Chapelle,  the  president  of  the  Victor 
Company,  was  a  popular  man  and  had  many  friends 
among  the  ranchers. 

Judge  Beaton,  a  noted  fisherman,  was  the  leading 
attorney  on  our  side,  and  he  and  Mr.  Keeble,  President 
of  the  Colorado  Matte  Company  where  the  only  ones  sup 
posed  to  know  me.  But  towards  the  last  I  heard  that 
the  secret  had  been  given  away  to  District  Attorney 
Ross  of  Trinidad,  Colorado,  and  other  friends  of  our 
side. 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  289 

In  this  way  the  Sheriff  no  doubt  found  out  who  I 
was,  though  he  never  said  anything  about  the  way  I 
had  played  him,  except  to  give  me  a  hint,  and  to  give 
me  a  wide  berth. 

One  day  he  met  me  coming  from  an  artesian  well  with 
a  small  tin-bucketful  of  water,  when  he  said:  "Say, 
Mr.  Le  Roy,  is  that  water  for  your  herd  of  cattle?" 
With  a  smile  I  answered  "Yes,"  and  he  passed  on.  I 
knew  then  that  he  was  "onto"  me,  but  my  work  was 
already  finished.  He  was  a  nice  fellow  just  the  same, 
even  though  he  did  feel  a  little  "sore"  towards  me. 

My  next  was  a  complicated  murder  case  in  Benkelman, 
Nebraska.  The  county  attorney  Mr.  Goodehart,  in  that 
sleepy  little  county-seat  town,  wanted  a  good  detective, 
as  none  other  could  make  a  success  the  way  matters 
stood.  Gen.  Supt.  McCartney  informed  him  that  he  had 
a  cowboy  detective  who  would  succeed  if  any  one  could. 
Therefore  I  was  detailed  on  the  case. 

Arriving  in  Benkelman,  Nebraska,  in  cowboy  attire,  I 
met  Prosecuting  Attorney  Goodehart  and  County  Com 
missioner,  L.  Morse,  at  night  in  a  secluded  place.  They 
explained  the  case  of  how  Ernest  Bush,  a  nineteen  year 
old  boy  had  come  into  their  county  that  Spring,  broke, 
and  asked  to  work  for  his  board  at  County  Commis 
sioner  Morse's  ranch,  a  few  miles  out  of  Benkelman, 
which  request  was  granted. 

Mr.  Morse  "batched"  at  his  ranch,  and  had  working 
for  him  an  old  Grand  Army  man  by  the  name  of  Baily. 
This  honest  old  soldier  who  had  fought  for  his  country 
took  a  deep  interest  in  the  poor  homeless  "kid,"  and  let 
him  sleep  with  him  in  his  bed. 

19 


290  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

A  few  days  later  Mr.  Morse  drove  to  town  in  his 
buggy,  giving  Mr.  Baily  orders  to  fix  a  hay  rack  that 
morning.  On  returning  in  the  afternoon  Mr.  Morse 
asked  Ernest  Bush  where  Mr.  Baily  was.  He  replied 
that  he  hadn't  seen  him  since  noon.  That  night  Bush 
worked  hard  and  fed  the  stock  himself. 

As  Baily  didn't  show  up  by  morning  the  whole  coun 
try  turned  out  to  search  for  him.  The  only  clue  found 
that  day  was  the  old  man's  false  teeth  on  the  trail  lead 
ing  to  the  river,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant.  They 
had  been  broken  and  trampled  into  the  mud  by  the  cattle 
going  to  water,  where  a  hole  had  been  cut  in  the  ice  for 
that  purpose. 

The  next  day  Mr.  Baily's  body  was  found  lodged  in 
a  fallen  tree  a  few  miles  down  the  river.  It  was  found 
through  the  ice  having  melted  and  exposing  one  gloved 
hand  protruding  above  the  water.  In  the  top  of 
the  head  were  several  buckshot  wounds.  This  indicated 
to  the  angry  men  that  Baily  had  been  cleaning  the  stable 
when  shot  from  the  loft  window  above.  Mr.  Morse  had 
a  shot-gun  in  the  house,  but  no  buckshot  cartridges  for  it. 

Bush  was  arrested  as  the  guilty  party,  but  cool  and 
unconcerned,  he  protested  his  innocence. 

Finally  Bush  had  a  preliminary  trial  and  the  court 
room  was  full  of  people.  When  Prosecuting  Attorney 
Goodehart  cross-questioned  the  poor  boy  too  severely, 
some  of  the  audience  hissed.  They  thought  it  was  a 
shame  for  a  big  prosecuting  attorney  to  impose  on  a  boy 
whose  face  was  plastered  over  with  a  coating  of  inno 
cence. 

Bush's  parents  in  Council  Bluffs,  Iowa,  had  sent  an 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  291 

attorney  from  Omaha,  and  also  hired  a  local  lawyer  to 
defend  him. 

When  the  Judge  dismissed  the  case  and  freed  Bush 
for  want  of  evidence,  some  of  the  ladies  in  the  Court 
room  threw  their  arms  around  the  boy's  neck  and  kissed 
him. 

Of  course  this  hurt  the  Prosecuting  Attorney's  feel 
ings  and  then  he  was  determined  to  prove  the  truth 
with  the  help  of  the  Dickenson  Agency  and  the  County 
Commissioners  to  back  him  up  with  funds,  for  it  takes 
cash  to  employ  the  big  Agency,  as  they  never  work  for 
rewards.  They  must  have  a  good  guarantee  to  insure 
their  pay  of  $8  per  diem  and  all  necessary  expenses. 
They  rightly  contend  that  a  detective  working  for  a  re 
ward  will  often  stretch  the  truth  in  order  to  convict, 
whereas,  with  the  per  diem  plan,  there  is  no  incentive 
for  an  operative  to  perjure  himself. 

After  the  trial  Bush's  local  attorney  took  charge  of 
him  and  cautioned  him  against  talking  to  strangers  or 
picking  up  with  any  one,  as  detectives  were  liable  to  be 
put  on  his  trail  to  get  a  confession.  His  attorneys  also 
advised  that  he  not  leave  the  country,  as  that  would  look 
as  though  he  was  trying  to  run  away.  He  was  also  told 
to  keep  in  touch  with  his  Benkelman  attorney.  Our 
clients  had  found  out  the  above  through  a  friend  of  the 
boy's.  Therefore  I  was  told  that  my  work  would  have 
to  be  pretty  slick  in  order  to  make  friends  with  the  boy, 
as  being  a  stranger  he  would  naturally  be  suspicious  of 
me,  and  if  he  were  not,  his  lawyer  would  be. 

The  lawyer  had  got  the  boy  a  job  with  a  Mr.  Scott 
across  the  river,  two  miles  distant. 


293  A    COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  I  won  the  boy's  friend 
ship  in  a  hurry,  and  persuaded  him  to  run  away  with  me 
and  not  even  let  his  lawyer  know  what  had  become  of 
him. 

About  a  week  after  my  arrival  in  Benkelman,  Bush  and 
I  were  on  the  way  to  New  Mexico. 

In  riding  through  town  on  our  horses  on  the  morning 
of  our  departure,  a  fat  boarder  at  the  hotel,  who  no  doubt 
had  a  large  criminal  bump  in  his  makeup,  called  the  boy 
off  to  one  side  and  told  him  that  I  might  be  a  detective 
trying  to  get  a  confession  out  of  him.  I  was  told  this 
after  we  got  out  of  town. 

I  had  played  myself  off  as  an  ex-outlaw  and  chum  of 
the  noted  train  robber  and  desperado,  "Black  Jack," 
who,  at  the  time  was  in  his  glory,  though  a  year  or  two 
later  he  was  hung,  at  which  time  the  rope  pulled  his 
head  off.  I  had  told  of  owning  a  ranch  in  New  Mexico 
at  Santa  Fe,  and  of  having  quit  the  outlaw  business.  But 
I  had  promised  to  get  him  into  "Black  Jack's"  gang. 

On  this  operation  I  used  my  own  name. 

On  arriving  in  New  Mexico  I  kept  Bush  hid  out  at  my 
ranch  near  Santa  Fe,  by  telling  him  that  as  he  was  going 
to  become  a  member  of  "Black  Jack's"  gang  it  was  best 
that  no  one  in  Santa  Fe  make  his  acquaintance,  or  see 
him  with  me ;  and  furthermore,  that  it  would  be  best  for 
him  to  lay  low  for  fear  the  Nebraska  officials  should  try 
to  locate  him. 

I  had  an  old  man  by  the  name  of  Atwood  working  on 
my  ranch  and  taking  care  of  my  pets,  and  of  course  I 
posted  him  to  not  tell  anyone  that  the  boy  was  there. 

Bush  and  I  made  several  trips  out  into  the  moun- 


'A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  293 

tains  on  my  pet  horses,  and  on  two  occasions  it  was  all 
I  could  do  to  prevent  him  from  murdering  poor  Mexi 
cans  for  what  money  they  might  have.  He  would  beg 
me  to  ride  on  and  let  him  do  the  job  alone ;  that  he  would 
hide  the  body  and  overtake  me.  He  had  bought  a  pistol 
and  was  anxious  to  try  it  on  a  man,  but  I  argued  that 
it  wouldn't  do  for  me  to  allow  a  murder  committed  so 
near  my  home.  I  told  him  that  he  would  get  his  fill  of 
murdering  when  he  got  in  with  the  "Black  Jack"  gang. 

I  had  told  Bush  that  one  of  "Black  Jack's"  main 
chums  was  now  at  Bland,  New  Mexico,  in  the  Cochiti 
mining  district,  and  that  I  would  have  him  come  and 
meet  him  (Bush).  Therefore,  I  wrote  to  my  friend 
"Cunny,"  the  Texan  whom  I  followed  in  the  Bill  Blank 
case,  and  who  had  worked  on  my  ranch  about  two  years. 
"Cunny"  was  then  mining  in  the  Cochiti  district.  I 
wrote  him  that  I  would  want  him  to  visit  me  on  the 
ranch  soon,  and  I  wrote  a  letter  for  him  to  copy  and 
mail  to  me  in  Santa  Fe.  In  this  fake  letter,  he  agreed 
to  take  my  "kid"  friend  with  him  when  they  started  on 
their  next  big  raid.  Of  course  Bush  read  this  letter,  and 
after  that  he  kept  me  busy  buying  pistol  cartridges  so 
that  he  could  practice  shooting.  He  was  then  a  happy 
boy. 

One  day  a  gentleman  named  Goeble,  said  to  be  a 
brother  to  the  murdered  Governor  Goeble  of  Kentucky, 
who  was  a  guest  at  Attorney  Thomas  B.  Catron's  resi 
dence  in  Santa  Fe,  rode  out  in  a  buggy  to  see  our  fine 
poultry.  Bush  thought  he  might  be  an  officer  from 
Nebraska  after  him,  so  he  loaded  my  double-barrel  shot 
gun  with  buckshot  cartridges,  and  set  it  in  the  bedroom 


294  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

clothes  closet,  to  be  used  in  'case  of  an  emergency.  When 
the  visitor  drove  up  to  the  gate  and  alighted,  I  raised  the 
trap  cellar  door  in  the  kitchen  and  advised  Bush  to  hide 
there  until  the  fellow  left.  He  did  as  directed.  I  then 
went  out  into  the  yard  to  talk  with  the  man,  and  while 
we  were  standing  talking,  a  large  hawk  began  to  soar 
overhead.  I  ran  in  to  get  the  shotgun,  but  found  the 
closet  locked  from  the  inside.  I  began  pushing  to  force 
the  door  open,  when  Bush  said:  "If  you  push  open  this 
door  I'll  let  you  have  both  barrels  of  this  gun.  What  in 
the  h 1  do  you  want?" 

I  explained  that  it  was  me,  and  I  wanted  the  gun  to 
shoot  a  hawk.  When  he  opened  the  door  he  had  both 
barrels  of  the  gun  cocked  and  pointed  towards  me.  He 
said  he  thought  I  was  the  other  man.  He  hated  to  give 
up  the  gun  though,  for  fear  I  was  putting  up  a  job  to 
capture  him.  But  I  laughed  at  him  for  losing  confidence 
in  me  so  easily.  On  reaching  the  back  yard  the  hawk 
was  gone  and  I  returned  the  gun  to  Bush.  This  cheered 
him  up  and  he  begged  my  pardon  for  doubting  me. 

Soon  after  this  my  friends,  Mr.  Alois  B.  Renehan,  one 
of  the  prominent  attorneys  of  Santa  Fe,  and  his  pretty 
young  wife,  came  out  to  the  ranch  to  visit  me,  and  I 
wanted  Bush  to  meet  them,  but  he  wouldn't  hear  to  it, 
though  they  got  to  see  him  from  a  distance,  while  he 
was  skulking  in  a  hollow  amidst  the  growing  corn  and 
sorghum. 

Bush  and  I  slept  together  in  a  separate  room  from  Mr. 
Atwood,  and  one  night,  after  the  boy  had  gone  to  sleep, 
he  began  dreaming  and  talking  to  himself.  He  finally 
climbed  upon  me  with  both  knees  on  my  stomach,  and 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  295 

both  hands  clutched  about  my  throat.  He  was  strong  for 
his  age,  and  to  prevent  him  from  cutting  off  my  wind,  I 
ran  the  fingers  of  one  of  my  hands  along  my  neck  under 
his  hands.  Then  I  waited  patiently  for  developments. 
Soon  he  released  the  hold  about  my  neck,  and  looking 
and  pointing  up  to  the  ceiling  said :  "Oh  look,  look,  see 
him,  he's  got  wings !"  Then  he  collapsed  and  fell  over  on 
his  side,  asleep. 

Next  morning  I  told  him  of  what  he  had  said  in  his 
sleep  and  asked  what  he  meant  by  it.  He  laughed  and 

said :  "Why,  I  was  dreaming  about  that  old Baily, 

who  is  now  pushing  clouds  in  hell.  I  could  see  him 
just  as  plain,  and  he  had  wings  too !" 

Here  I  got  a  full  confession  of  how  he  murdered  poor 
old  Baily,  which  was  as  follows: 

After  Mr.  Morse  had  driven  away  from  the  ranch, 
Baily  began  working  on  a  hay  rack  out  in  the  cattle  yard. 
Then  Bush  made  preparations  to  carry  out  his  plan  to 
murder  the  old  man  for  his  money.  He  had  noticed  that 
the  old  soldier  carried  a  large  fat  pocketbook  in  his  vest 
pocket.  He  had  loaded  a  shell  with  buckshot  for  the 
purpose.  While  Baily  was  working  on  the  hay  rack  Bush 
got  Mr.  Morse's  shotgun  and  placed  the  buckshot  shell 
in  one  barrel, — the  other  barrel  already  contained  a 
shell,  loaded  with  birdshot.  Bush  then  crawled  into  the 
hogpen  and  stuck  the  gun  through  a  hole  in  the  fence. 
Baily  was  facing  him,  but  had  his  face  turned  down,  as 
he  was  sawing  a  two-by-four  inch  scantling,  which 
caused  the  top  of  his  head  to  be  pointed  towards  the  con 
cealed  gun. 

The  distance  was  about  thirty  yards,  more  or  less. 


296  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Both  barrels  of  the  gun  were  fired  at  the  same  time. 
Baily  gave  a  scream  and  fell  over.  Then  Bush  ran  to 
the  house  and  got  two  cartridges  loaded  with  birdshot. 
These  he  put  in  the  gun  and  then  ran  to  where  Baily  lay 
struggling  with  death.  He  asked  the  old  man  if  he  was 
much  hurt,  intending  to  fire  both  charges  into  him,  in 
case  he  had  life  enough  to  answer.  But  he  only  groaned 
a  few  times  and  was  dead.  Then  Bush  went  through 
his  pockets  and  found  a  few  five  and  ten  dollar  bills  and 
a  little  silver.  The  fat  pocketbook  contained  nothing  but 
mortgages  and  pension  papers.  Then  the  young 
murderer  put  a  harness  onto  his  own  horse  in  the  stable 
and  tied  the  tugs  together  behind  the  animal.  Then  one 
end  of  a  rope  was  tied  to  the  tugs,  while  the  other 
end  was  fastened  to  the  old  man's  neck.  Now  the  horse 
was  mounted,  so  as  to  drag  the  body  to  the  river,  but 
the  horse  became  frightened  and  bucked  all  over  the 
corral,  dragging  the  corpse  behind  his  heels.  Finally  he 
ran  out  of  the  open  gate  and  Bush  headed  him  towards 
the  river,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant,  over  the  cattle  trail 
made  in  the  deep  snow.  At  the  river  the  body  was 
thrown  into  the  hole,  cut  in  the  ice  where  the  cattle 
watered.  It  drifted  with  the  current  under  the  ice  and 
was  soon  lost  to  view. 

In  going  back  over  the  trail  the  boy  picked  up  one  of 
Baily's  mittens.  This  he  burned  in  the  stove. 

Then  the  cattle  were  rounded  up  and  put  in  the  corral 
and  driven  to  water  over  the  trail,  so  as  to  obliterate  all 
signs  of  the  body  dragging  in  the  snow. 

After  the  horse  was  put  up,  Bush  put  away  the  saw, 
which  he  had  had  great  difficulty  in  getting  out  of  the 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  297 

corpse's  hand,  and  he  hid  the  scantling  which  was  partly 
sawed  in  two.  Then  he  found  some  buckshot  and  bird- 
shot  holes  in  a  post  which  stood  directly  behind  Baily,  in 
line.  These  shot  had  missed  the  old  man's  head.  With 
his  knife  he  made  the  buckshot  holes  look  like  spike  holes, 
and  the  marks  of  the  small  shot  were  scratched  and  ob 
literated. 

The  money  he  hid  by  burying  it  at  the  foot  of  a  tele 
graph  pole  in  the  pasture.  Later  its  hiding  place  was 
changed  to  the  lining  of  his  clothing,  where  a  few  bills 
still  remained.  These  he  ripped  out  and  gave  to  me,  so 
that  they  could  be  spent  in  the  natural  course  of  business. 
He  said  I  could  just  give  him  credit  for  the  amount  and 
pay  him  back  later. 

While  I  was  in  the  kitchen  getting  breakfast  and  Mr. 
Atwood  was  out  milking  the  Jersey  cows  and  feeding 
the  stock,  Bush  imitated  to  me  how  the  murder  was  com 
mitted.  He  got  the  shotgun  and  had  me  put  a  stick  on  a 
chair,  then  put  my  knee  on  it  and  use  the  fire  poker  for  a 
saw.  Of  course  I  made  sure  the  gun  was  empty.  When 
he  pulled  the  trigger  I  gave  a  scream  and  fell  over  on 
the  floor  groaning.  Soon  he  stood  over  me  and  asked 
if  I  was  hurt  much.  A  few  more  groans  and  kicks  and  I 
was  dead.  He  said  my  part  was  played  to  perfection. 
Then  we  both  laughed  and  I  complimented  him  on  his 
courage  and  said  he  was  made  out  of  the  proper  stuff  for 
a  member  of  the  "Black  Jack"  gang. 

He  then  told  of  how  slick  he  played  County  Attorney 
Goodehart,  and  of  how  nice  it  was  to  have  the  ladies 
kiss  and  caress  him  in  the  court  room. 

During  the  next  few  days  Bush  told  me  of  all  the 


298  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

crimes  committed  by  him.  They  were  many,  and  some 
of  them  heartless.  His  first  crime  was  stealing  a  lot  of 
money  from  his  own  mother,  and  the  next  was  earning 
$50  from  his  uncle  for  setting  fire  to  the  uncle's  resi 
dence,  while  the  family  were  absent  on  a  visit.  The  uncle 
got  the  $3,000.00  of  insurance  money  and  afterwards  be 
came  well-to-do. 

One  of  his  crimes  was,  where  he  and  two  men  in 
northern  Nebraska,  made  a  raise  of  a  lot  of  money,  then 
went  out  into  the  woods  and  played  cards  to  see  who 
should  have  it  all.  One  of  the  men  won  the  "boodle." 
Then  Bush  and  the  other  loser  put  up  a  job  and  killed 
the  lucky  player  and  buried  his  body  where  it  no  doubt 
remains  to  this  day. 

In  the  course  of  a  week  after  confessing  to  me,  I 
noticed  for  several  days  that  Bush  was  sullen  and  seemed 
to  be  brooding  over  something.  Finally  one  evening, 
when  I  returned  from  town,  where  I  had  gone  to  get 
meat  for  supper  and  to  write  a  report,  Bush  was  in  a 
good  humor.  He  showed  me  a  key  which  he  had  made 
to  unlock  my  valise.  It  was  a  good  piece  of  work.  He 
then  confessed  going  into  my  valise  and  reading  the  let 
ters,  etc,  therein.  I  had  put  these  letters  into  the  valise  for 
just  such  an  emergency.  I  asked  why  he  wanted  to  read 
my  letters.  He  said :  "Now  Charlie,  I'm  going  to  confess 
to  you  that  I  have  been  worrying  for  several  days,  be 
cause  I  told  you  that  I  killed  old  Baily.  I  was  afraid 
you  might  be  a  d — d  detective,  so  today  I  made  a  key  to 
fit  your  valise,  for  I  thought  if  you  were  a  detective  you 
would  have  something  in  there  that  would  give  you  away. 
If  I  had  found  anything  that  looked  suspicious,  I  was 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  299 

going  to  kill  you  to-night  and  then  get  on  Lula  and  hit 
the  road.  I  might  have  killed  old  Atwood  too,  but  I 
had  it  all  fixed  how  you  were  to  be  killed  so  as  not  to 
wake  up  Atwood." 

I  asked  if  he  had  intended  to  kill  me  quick  so  I 
wouldn't  suffer.  He  replied:  "Yes,  I  had  a  hatchet 
sharpened  for  the  purpose." 

Then  he  went  and  pulled  a  sharp  hatchet  from  its  hid 
ing  place  and  showed  me  just  where  he  had  intended  to 
split  my  head  open,  as  I  slept.  He  said  he  was  going 
to  play  he  was  asleep  until  he  knew  for  sure  that  I  was 
not  awake. 

I  asked  if  he  was  out  of  the  notion  of  carrying  out 
his  plan;  if  not,  I  wouldn't  let  him  sleep  with  me  any 
more.  He  replied :  "Oh  you  needn't  be  afraid  of  me  now, 
Charlie,  for  I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  you  are  all 
right.  What  convinced  me  the  most  after  I  got  to  think 
ing  the  matter  over  was  the  way  you  always  leave  your 
pistol  where  I  could  get  hold  of  it.  Often  when  you  and 
I  were  here  alone  you  would  walk  down  to  the  well,  or 
to  the  garden,  and  leave  the  pistol  lying  on  the  table  or 
bed.  I  concluded  a  detective  wouldn't  do  that." 

From  now  on,  I  carried  out  the  Dickenson  Agency 
motto:  "We  never  sleep."  Previous  to  this  I  had  been 
sleeping  with  part  of  one  eye  open,  figuratively  speaking. 

As  I  wanted  a  witness  to  the  boy's  confession,  I 
wrote  to  my  friend  "Cunny"  in  Bland,  to  come  over  at 
once. 

When  "Cunny"  arrived  Bush  was  happy,  as  I  had  told 
him  that  "Black  Jack's"  chum  was  coming  and  I  advised 


300  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

him  to  try  to  make  a  good  impression  on  him,  so  that  he 
could  go  on  their  proposed  raid. 

I  went  to  town  and  left  "Cunny"  and  Bush  together 
the  first  day.  "Cunny"  put  in  his  time  "loading"  the 
"kid"  with  the  bloody  deeds  of  "Black  Jack"  and  his 
gang,  and  of  the  money  they  made. 

On  my  return  I  found  Bush  happy  and  in  love  with 
"Cunny."  I  asked  if  he  had  told  "Cunny"  of  how  he 
had  made  his  killings.  He  said  no,  and  asked  me  to  tell 
him  about  it  as  it  would  look  too  much  like  bragging  for 
him  to  tell  it.  I  agreed  to  start  the  subject  and  then  he 
could  go  on  and  finish  it.  So  after  supper  I  got  the  boy 
started  and  he  repeated  the  whole  story  of  Baily's 
murder,  and  next  morning  while  Atwood  was  doing  the 
outside  work,  I  had  Bush  get  the  shotgun  and  show 
"Cunny"  how  it  had  been  done.  I  played  Baily  by  saw 
ing  the  scantling  with  the  poker. 

As  this  was  all  the  evidence  needed,  I  put  up  a  scheme 
to  get  Bush  to  Denver  before  making  the  arrest.  I  had 
a  letter  come  from  our  office  in  Denver  purporting  to 
come  from  a  Wyoming  horseman  who  had  arrived  in 
that  city  with  some  cheap  horses.  In  the  letter  a  price 
was  given  on  fifty  head,  with  a  promise  that  he  would 
hold  them  until  I  could  get  there.  Of  course  this  letter 
was  shown  to  "Cunny"  and  Bush,  and  "Cunny"  told 
Bush  that  he  would  have  plenty  of  time  to  help  me  drive 
the  horses  to  Santa  Fe  as  the  "Black  Jack"  raid  would 
not  start  for  a  month  yet. 

Therefore,  next  day  Bush  and  I  got  ready  to  start  on 
the  A.  T.  &  S.  F.  train  at  n  o'clock  in  the  night.  I  sug 
gested  to  Bush  that  he  and  I  walk  from  the  ranch  to  the 


'A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  301 

depot,  which  was  about  two  miles,  so  as  to  save  hitching 
up  a  team  so  late  in  the  night.  "Cunny"  sat  up  with  us 
until  we  started  at  9 130  p.  M. 

The  night  was  dark  and  on  going  half  a  mile  Bush 
balked  and  wouldn't  budge  another  step.  Said  he : 
"Charlie,  d — d  if  I  feel  right.  I  am  not  going  any  fur 
ther." 

I  laughed  and  told  him  to  come  on,  that  he  must  be 
crazy.  He  continued :  "I've  got  a  hunch  that  you  are  a 
detective  and  have  got  officers  hid  between  here  and  the 
depot  to  arrest  me.  Now  I  want  to  tell  you  one  thing,  if 
YOU  do  turn  out  to  be  a  detective  and  I  have  to  go  to  the 
'pen/  you  can  figure  that  your  life  will  end  just  as  soon 
as  I  get  out.  If  I  go  up  for  five  years  or  ten  years,  you 
can  figure  on  living  just  that  long  and  no  longer." 

I  laughed  and  told  him  that  I  would  want  to  die  if  I 
was  low  down  enough  to  be  a  detective.  I  assured  him 
that  there  were  no  officers  hid  in  the  arroyos  between 
there  and  town.  Then  he  said:  "All  right,  we  will  see. 
You  take  the  lead  and  I'll  walk  behind  you  with  my  pistol 
cocked  ready  to  shoot.  Then  if  any  one  shows  up  on  the 
trail  I  will  empty  my  pistol  into  you."  I  told  him  to 
go  behind  and  if  he  saw  any  suspicious  men  to  cut  loose 
at  me,  but  to  make  a  death  shot  so  that  I  wouldn't  suffer. 
He  then  got  out  his  pistol  and  carried  it  in  his  hand.  He 
walked  about  twenty  feet  behind  me. 

After  going  half  a  mile  he  stepped  up  to  my  side  and 
slapped  me  on  the  shoulder  saying:  "I  reckon  you  are 
all  right,  Charlie.  If  you  were  a  detective  you  wouldn't 
take  such  chances  of  being  shot  by  me.  I  could  have 
killed  you  and  got  your  money,  then  slipped  back  to  the 
ranch  and  got  on  Lula  and  hit  the  trail  for  Mexico." 


302  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

He  put  up  the  pistol  and  we  walked  side  by  side  the 
balance  of  the  way  to  the  depot.  There  we  boarded  the 
train. 

At  Lamy,  the  junction  of  the  main  line,  I  telegraphed 
to  my  horse  man  in  Denver,  stating  at  what  time  we 
would  arrive  there.  We  arrived  in  Denver  during  the 
afternoon  and  went  to  a  restaurant  to  eat  a  square  meal. 
Just  then  a  couple  of  our  men  and  a  city  officer  came  and 
arrested  Bush.  I  protested  and  they  threatened  to  arrest 
me  if  I  didn't  keep  quiet. 

Bush  was  taken  to  a  room  in  the  St.  James  Hotel, 
where  County  Attorney  Goodeheart  and  one  of  the  County 
Commissioners  from  Benkelman,  Nebraska,  were  wait 
ing.  In  about  half  an  hour  I  went  to  the  St.  James  to 
see  if  I  couldn't  go  on  Bush's  bond  till  morning. 

Bush  hated  for  me  to  leave  when  I  bade  him  goodby. 
He  didn't  seem  to  suspect  me  of  having  a  hand  in  his 
arrest. 

Next  day  he  was  taken  back  to  Benkelman  and  a  sur 
prise  sprung  on  his  lawyer,  who  never  knew  what  had 
become  of  the  "kid." 

Shortly  after,  I  had  "Cunny"  meet  me  in  Denver  and 
we  went  together  to  Benkelman,  Nebraska,  to  appear 
against  Bush  in  the  District  Court,  which  was  in  session 
there.  Bush's  same  two  lawyers  were  on  hand  to  defend 
him,  and  a  noted  criminal  lawyer  from  Lincoln,  the  Cap 
ital  of  the  State,  was  there  to  assist  Mr.  Goodeheart  in 
the  prosecution.  He  was  a  large  man  with  a  very  large 
bump  of  self-importance  sticking  out  of  his  head.  But 
he  made  the  mistake  of  bumping  up  against  my  stubborn 
bump.  He  tried  to  force  me  to  be  drilled  as  to  my  testi- 


303 

mony.  He  said  he  had  had  lots  of  experience  with  rail 
road  detectives  and  they  generally  made  a  bad  impres 
sion  on  the  jury,  so  for  that  reason,  he  wanted  to  put  me 
through  a  drill.  When  he  demanded  it,  then  my  stubborn 
bump  got  to  working  and  I  read  the  riot  act  to  him.  I 
informed  him  that  I  was  going  to  tell  the  truth,  and  that 
truth  needed  no  drilling,  and  that  I  held  the  winning  hand 
in  this  game,  hence  he  couldn't  make  me  do  anything. 
His  dignity  then  got  down  off  its  high  horse  and  col 
lapsed. 

The  scantling  which  was  sawed  partly  in  two  was 
found  where  the  boy  said  it  was,  and  the  buckshot  and 
small  shot  were  cut  out  of  the  post. 

After  I  had  testified  the  Lincoln  lawyer  was  so  pleased 
that  he  advised  against  putting  "Cunny"  on  the  stand  for 
fear  of  weakening  my  evidence.  Therefore  "Cunny"  was 
not  used. 

Of  course  Bush's  attorneys  gave  me  an  awful  "roast 
ing." 

The  court  house  was  packed  with  people  from  the 
whole  county.  The  jury  were  out  a  short  time  and 
brought  in  a  verdict  of  murder  in  the  first  degree.  There 
was  no  kissing  in  the  courtroom  this  time.  Bush  looked 
daggers  at  me.  He  received  a  life  sentence  in  the  peni 
tentiary,  and  it  was  sustained  by  the  State  Supreme 
Court. 

Naturally  I  was  quite  a  hero  in  the  little  town  of  Ben- 
kelman,  and  had  many  invitations  out  to  dine. 

I  had  hard  work  pulling  "Cunny"  away  from  a  pretty 
little  corn-fed  girl  who  was  waiting  on  our  table  at  the 
hotel. 


304  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

The  chances  are  that  Ernest  Bush  will  be  pardoned 
out  of  the  penitentiary  before  he  is  an  old  man.  Then 
he  will  choose  a  wife  from  his  own  class  and  go  to  breed 
ing  degenerate  criminals  like  himself.  Thus  the  devil 
work  will  go  on  while  society  sleeps. 
Oh,  what  fools  we  mortals  are  to  allow  it 


CHAPTER  XIV 

ON  TRAIL  OF  UNION  PACIFIC  TRAIN  ROBBERS  THROUGH 
UTAH,  COLORADO,  NEW  MEXICO,  KANSAS,  INDIAN 
TERRITORY,  ARKANSAS,  TENNESSEE,  MISSISSIPPI, 
MONTANA  AND  THE  REPUBLIC  OF  MEXICO. 

After  the  Bush  operation,  I  was  detailed  on  several 
small  cases  in  near-by  towns,  and  also  did  some  city 
work  in  Denver. 

Finally  I  was  put  to  work  for  the  Colorado  Matte  & 
Ore  Co.  on  a  long  operation  to  find  out  the  feeling  of 
their  coal  miners.  This  was  not  pleasant  work,  as  my 
associates  were  coal  miners  of  every  nationality. 

I  started  in  at  Trinidad,  Colorado,  and  worked  all  the 
coal  towns  tributary  to  that  city.  Then  I  changed  to 
Florence,  and  worked  the  coal  camps  around  there. 

Finally,  during  the  early  summer,  I  was  detailed  with 
my  friend  W.  O.  Sayles,  who  had  just  returned  from 
South  Africa,  to  go  on  trail  of  train  robbers  for  the 
Union  Pacific  Railroad  Company.  One  of  their  passen 
ger  trains  had  been  held  up  at  Wilcox,  Wyoming,  and 
a  large  amount  of  unsigned  money  stolen,  and  in  a  fight 
which  followed,  Sheriff  Hazen  was  killed  by  the  robbers. 

From  the  best  information  obtainable,  the  Hole-in-the- 
wall  gang  had  committed  the  robbery. 

In  Denver,  Sayles  and  I  bought  a  "30-40"  smokeless 
powder  Winchester  rifle  each,  also  blankets  and  camp 
outfit.  Supt  John  S.  Kaiser  instructed  us  to  go  to  Salt 

20  305 

I 


306  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Lake  City,  Utah,  and  there  buy  horses  and  saddles  and 
ride  into  Brown's  Park,  Colorado,  just  over  the  line  of 
Utah  which  is  a  haven  for  criminals.  In  Wyoming  some 
of  the  robbers  had  been  seen  driving  a  bunch  of  horses 
south,  headed  for  Brown's  Park.  These  were  the  par 
ticular  men  we  were  going  after,  but  anyone  who  looked 
suspicious  of  ever  having  robbed  a  train,  was  to  be 
"spotted." 

A  500  mile  ride  over  the  continental  range  of  moun 
tains  on  the  D.  &  R.  G.  Ry.  brought  us  to  the  Mormon 
Capital.  The  first  thing  we  did  was  to  hunt  up  our  friend 
"Doc"  Shores,  special  agent  of  the  Rio  Grande  Western 
Ry.,  and  tell  him  of  our  proposed  man  hunt,  for  he  was 
in  a  position  to  help  us. 

Sayers  and  I  then  bought  a  good  saddle  horse  apiece, 
and  a  pack  animal,  also  saddles,  grub,  etc.,  and  a  good 
supply  of  rifle  and  pistol  cartridges. 

Just  as  we  were  ready  to  start  "Doc"  Shores  received 
a  letter  from  one  of  his  confidential  men  in  Hanksville, 
Utah,  stating  that  two  men  supposed  to  be  Union  Pacific 
train  robbers  had  just  passed  there  going  south;  that 
they  were  driving  thirteen  head  of  good  horses.  Shores 
let  us  read  the  letter  and  we  felt  confident  these  were  the 
men  we  were  after,  as  they  had  the  same  number  of 
horses  as  seen  in  Wyoming. 

We  arranged  with  Mr.  Shores  to  furnish  us  a  stock- 
car  on  the  narrow  gauge  D.  &  R.  G.  Ry.  so  that  we 
could  ship  our  horses  and  outfit  to  Marys  vale,  Utah,  and 
from  there  we  could  make  a  fast  ride  and  reach  Dandy 
Crossing  on  the  Colorado  river  about  the  same  time  as 
the  robbers.  The  letter  had  stated  that  they  were  headed 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  307 

for  the  Dandy  Crossing  ferry.  We  telegraphed  in  cipher 
the  contents  of  the  letter  and  our  intentions  to  Supt. 
Kaiser,  and  asked  for  his  advice.  Soon  we  got  an  answer 
to  follow  our  first  instructions,  which  meant  to  "hit  the 
trail"  for  Brown's  Park. 

We  selected  our  route  through  Emigration  Canyon  to 
Park  City,  a  large  mining  camp,  thence  'to  Heber  and 
east  over  the  range  of  mountains  to  the  head  of  Straw 
berry  Creek  on  the  Duchesne  Indian  Reservation  and 
down  that  stream  to  the  Duchesne  river.  On  Strawberry 
Creek  we  had  good  fishing,  although  Sayles  didn't  enjoy 
the  sport  on  account  of  the  mosquitoes.  They  had  his 
face  and  hands  chewed  to  pieces.  His  face  was  swollen 
so  badly  that  he  looked  like  a  breweryman.  I  was  too 
tough  for  common  mosquitoes,  as  I  had  been  hardened 
with  Texas  gallinippers  chewing  on  me  from  the  cradle 
to  early  manhood.  A  gallinipper  is  larger  than  two 
northern  mosquitoes. 

On  arriving  at  Ft.  Duchesne,  a  U.  S.  Military  post  on 
the  Indian  Reservation,  after  a  five  days'  hard  ride,  we 
found  a  telegraph  message  from  Supt.  Kaiser  in  Denver, 
stating  that  the  two  men  and  thirteen  loose  horses  seen 
in  Hanksville  en  route  to  Dandy  Crossing  were  undoubt 
edly  the  train  robbers  that  we  were  after,  and  for  us  to 
give  up  the  Brown's  Park  trip  and  turn  south  on  trail  of 
these  men. 

It  was  evident  that  someone  had  made  a  blunder  by 
not  letting  us  ship  our  stock  to  Marysvale  and  thereby 
reach  Dandy  Crossing  the  same  time  as  the  robbers,  if 
not  before,  and  also  have  saved  us  a  tiresome  500  mile 
horseback  ride.  We  were  not  mad  but  the  cuss-words 


308  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

hurled  over  towards  Denver  left  a  sulphuric  taste  in  our 
mouths  for  a  week. 

From  Ft.  Duchesne  we  headed  south  for  Price,  Utah, 
on  the  Rio  Grande  Western  Ry.  En  route  to  Price  I 
learned  from  a  rancher  that  my  Wyoming  friend  Tom 
Hall,  who  had  so  kindly  prevented  a  rope  being  placed 
about  my  neck,  and  who  made  the  crutches  for  me  to 
walk  with,  now  lived  in  Price  and  ran  a  saloon  there, 
although  he  was  now  going  by  his  right  name,  Tom 
Nichols,  the  old  murder  charge  in  Texas  having  been 
canceled. 

Not  knowing  that  I  was  acquainted  with  Tom  Hall, 
this  rancher  gave  me  his  history.  He  told  me  of  how  he 
and  his  two  brothers  "Mid"  and  George  Nichols,  had 
conducted  a  saloon  at  "Hogtown"  on  the  edge  of  Ft. 
Duchesne,  and  of  how  George  had  killed  a  man  and 
skipped  out  to  wear  the  brand  of  an  outlaw. 

A  ride  of  three  days  brought  us  to  Price  early  one 
afternoon.  My  first  desire  was  to  get  a  good  look  at  Tom 
Hall,  to  see  if  he  had  changed  from  of  old.  I  didn't  dare 
enter  his  saloon  for  fear  of  being  recognized  by  him,  in 
which  case  my  work  might  be  spoiled  by  our  indentity  be 
ing  made  public.  Furthermore,  I  didn't  know  but  that 
our  meeting  might  end  in  a  fight,  for  the  chances  were  a 
bitter  feeling  aginst  me  existed  on  his  part,  and  in  that 
Case  he  wouldn't  hesitate  to  use  his  gun. 

When  directly  opposite  the  Nichols  saloon,  Tom 
walked  out  in  his  shirt  sleeves  and  seated  himself  in  a 
chair  facing  me.  He  was  the  same  Tom,  tall  and  good 
looking,  but  a  little  older  and  fleshier. 

I  stepped  into  the  newspaper  office  at  my  back  and 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  309 

asked  for  some  exchange  papers  to  read.  These  were 
furnished  and  I  sat  looking  out  through  the  glass-front 
at  Hall,  and  wondered  what  his  life  had  been  since  we 
held  the  Irish  wake  over  the  corpse  of  poor  Mrs.  Howard. 

The  next  morning  Sayles  and  I  pulled  out  for  the 
south  in  a  driving  rainstorm,  which  had  been  falling  since 
midnight.  About  five  miles  out  we  came  to  a  raging 
creek  which  couldn't  be  crossed  without  danger  to  our 
selves  and  horses.  Therefore  we  started  back  to  Price 
only  to  find  ourselves  cut  off  from  that  place  by  an 
other  swift  creek  which  had  risen  over  its  banks  in  the 
past  half  hour.  There  was  nothing  for  us  to  do  but  wait 
in  the  rain  for  this  creek  to  go  down.  This  it  did  towards 
night.  On  arriving  back  in  Price,  we  put  up  at  the  same 
hotel  where  we  had  stopped  the  night  before,  and  while 
in  our  room  upstairs,  a  knock  came  at  the  door,  which 
was  opened  and  the  visitor  invited  to  enter.  He  intro 
duced  himself  as  the  editor  of  the  local  paper,  and  ex 
plained  to  us  that  we  were  virtually  under  arrest  as 
Union  Pacific  train  robbers ;  that  he  had  been  sent  up  by 
the  sheriff  of  the  county  to  advise  us  to  surrender  peace 
fully.  Of  course  we  laughed  and  told  him  that  we  were 
prospectors  on  the  way  to  the  Henry  mountains  south 
of  Hanksville.  The  editor  then  told  us  that  the  sheriff 
and  a  posse  with  Winchester  rifles  had  the  hotel  sur 
rounded,  and  to  verify  his  assertion  we  were  told  to  look 
out  of  the  window.  This  we  did,  and  saw  men  with  rifles. 
The  editor  told  of  how  the  sheriff  had  been  fixing  to  go 
on  our  trail,  when  we  rode  back  into  town. 

We  gave  a  history  of  how  we  had  outfitted  in  Salt 
Lake  for  a  prospecting  trip  and  that  we  had  pick  and 


310  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

shovel,  gold  pan  and  other  prospecting  tools  in  our  pack. 
He  said  there  was  no  doubt  in  his  mind  but  that  we  were 
all  right,  and  he  would  so  report  to  the  sheriff.  Thus  the 
matter  ended,  and  the  "dogs  of  war"  were  called  off. 

The  next  morning  when  ready  to  make  another  start 
a  photographer  took  our  pictures. 

For  the  next  three  or  four  days  we  had  a  wet  ride, 
swimming  creeks  and  traveling  in  sticky  mud  up  to  our 
horses'  knees  at  times.  We  went  through  several  Mor 
mon  towns  to  Emery,  thence  over  a  desert  to  Dirty-devil 
Creek,  and  up  that  stream  to  Hanksville,  where  the  two 
supposed  train  robbers  had  been  seen. 

In  Hanksville  we  made  the  acquaintance  of  Charlie 
Gibbons  who  ran  the  only  hotel  and  store  in  the  place. 
In  a  general  talk  with  him  and  his  brother  and  other 
men,  we  found  out  that  two  suspicious  characters  with 
thirteen  head  of  horses  had  crossed  the  Colorado  river  at 
Dandy  Crossing  about  ten  days  previous,  and  that  nearly 
a  week  later,  a  third  man  with  five  head  of  horses 
crossed.  He  made  inquiry  for  the  first  two  men.  Charlie 
Gibbons'  brother  helped  this  last  man  swim  his  horses 
across  the  river,  and  from  the  description  given  us  he 
was  evidently  the  notorious  "Kid"  Curry.  He  told  Gib 
bons  and  Johnny  Hite,  who  had  charge  of  the  ferry,  that 
he  would  go  where  the  grass  was  good  and  camp  until 
he  heard  from  his  friends. 

After  Sayles  and  I  crossed  the  river,  we  trailed  this 
man  up  White's  Canyon.  We  found  where  he  took  his 
horses  up  a  rocky  bluff  several  hundred  feet  high,  which 
looked  like  an  impossible  feat.  By  this  time  it  was  late 
in  the  evening  so  that  one  of  us  had  to  return  to  Dandy 


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A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  311 

Crossing  after  some  grain  for  our  horses.  It  was  agreed 
that  Sayles  go  back  and  follow  till  dark.  It  was  all  I 
could  do  to  get  my  horse  up  the  steep  bluff. 

When  on  top  of  the  mesa  the  country  was  level.  I 
followed  the  trail  to  a  wide  rocky  arroyo  where  all  traces 
of  the  horses'  tracks  were  lost.  They  had  evidently  gone 
down  this  rocky  canyon.  I  searched  the  canyon  for  two 
miles  down  and  then  gave  up  the  chase  to  get  back  to 
camp  before  it  became  too  dark  to  see  my  way  down  that 
steep  bluff. 

A  year  later  I  found  out  through  Mr.  John  Duckett, 
of  Bluff  City,  Utah,  that  I  was  within  half  a  mile  of  this 
lone  outlaw's  camp  when  I  turned  back.  Duckett  was 
working  a  mining  prospect  across  White's  Canyon  and 
could  see  every  move  made.  Duckett  said  the  fellow 
camped  there  two  weeks.  They  were  only  a  couple  of 
miles  apart,  but  couldn't  visit  each  other  without  travel 
ing  ten  to  twenty  miles,  owing  to  bluffs  and  canyons.  So, 
the  chances  are  I  came  very  near  running  into  my  game. 
In  that  case  there  would  have  been  "something  doing." 
And  it  is  possible  that  this  outlaw  saw  me  trailing  him. 
In  that  event  he  would  have  had  the  best  of  the  fight. 

All  is  well  that  ends  well. 

Owing  to  the  fact  of  my  losing  the  trail  of  the  lone 
outlaw  on  the  rock-bottom  bed  of  the  canyon,  Sayers 
and  I  concluded  to  follow  the  tracks  of  the  two  men  and 
their  thirteen  head  of  loose  horses.  The  tracks  still 
showed  plainly  in  the  valley  of  White's  Canyon,  as  there 
was  no  travel  to  speak  of  in  that  country. 

To  recite  our  ups  and  downs  in  finding  water  and  keep 
ing  the  dim  trail  and  of  having  our  pack  horse  killed  by 


312  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

a  rattlesnake  bite,  would  require  too  much  space.  Suffice 
it  to  say  that  we  reached  Bluff  City,  a  little  Mormon 
settlement  on  the  San  Juan  river,  in  good  health,  the  dis 
tance  being  about  120  miles  with  not  a  habitation  on  the 
route. 

In  Bluff  City  we  learned  of  the  two  U.  P.  robbers 
being  there  two  weeks  ahead  of  us;  also  two  of  our 
operatives.  Alvin  Carman  and  Alvin  Darkbird.  had 
arrived  a  couple  of  days  ahead  of  us  and  had  taken  up 
the  trail  of  the  robbers  who  were  headed  east. 

By  this  time  we  knew  they  were  Union  Pacific  train 
robbers,  as  they  had  passed  some  of  the  unsigned  bills 
stolen  in  the  Silcox,  Wyoming,  train  holdup.  They  had 
passed  one  $20.00  bill  with  a  merchant  in  Thompson's 
Falls  and  another  with  Charlie  Gibbons  of  Hanksville. 

Darkbird  and  Carman  had  been  sent  by  Supt.  Kaiser 
to  Flagstaff,  Arizona,  there  to  buy  outfits  and  cut  across 
the  country  to  Bluff  City,  Utah,  so  as  to  assist  Sayles 
and  me,  or  to  intercept  the  robbers  in  case  they  headed 
south  for  Arizona. 

Sayles  and  I  figured  that  we  were  born  leaders  of  men, 
hence  we  didn't  like  the  idea  of  bringing  up  the  rear, 
three  days  behind  the  other  two  operatives.  Therefore, 
in  Mancos,  Colorado,  on  the  Denver  &  Rio  Grande  rail 
road  we  put  our  jaded  horses  in  a  pasture  and  stored 
our  camp  outfit,  taking  our  saddles  along  with  us,  and 
boarded  a  train  for  Durango.  Here  we  overtook  Carman 
and  his  chum.  From  Durango,  Sayles  and  I  led  the 
chase  by  riding  on  trains,  in  buggies,  and  on  hired  saddle 
horses.  We  left  the  other  two  boys  far  in  the  rear,  and 
they  finally  lost  the  trail  entirely  and  returned  to  Denver. 


A    COWBOY   DETECTIVE  313 

In  Lumberton,  New  Mexico,  my  friend  J.  M.  Archu- 
leta,  who  was  one  of  my  chums  in  the  Archuleta,  Col 
orado,  uprising,  had  seen  the  two  robbers  and  the  thirteen 
head  of  horses,  two  of  them  being  very  noticeable,  one 
being  a  pretty  cream  color  and  the  other  a  large  dapple 
iron  gray.  After  leaving  Lumberton  we  lost  the  trail, 
but  we  heard  of  two  men  and  a  bunch  of  horses  headed 
south  towards  Bland,  New  Mexico.  It  was  agreed  that 
I  follow  this  clue,  while  Sayles  searched  the  country 
around  Pagosa  Springs,  Colorado. 

By  riding  on  a  Denver  &  Rio  Grande  train  about  500 
miles,  I  landed  in  Santa  Fe,  New  Mexico.  There  I 
went  out  to  my  ranch  and  saddled  up  Glen  Alpine,  Jr. 
He  was  fat  and  bucked  like  a  wolf. 

A  forty  mile  ride  brought  me  to  Bland  in  the  Cochiti 
mining  district,  where  lived  my  friend  "Cunny."  He 
had  seen  the  two  men  and  bunch  of  horses,  and  they 
proved  not  to  be  the  robbers. 

While  I  was  riding  in  the  heavy  timber  on  the  head  of 
Peralta  Canyon,  I  ran  onto  a  sister  of  the  Polk  brothers. 
She  was  alone  in  a  new  cabin  just  built,  and  recognized 
"Glen"  before  she  did  me.  We  had  both  put  up  at  their 
place  in  the  Wichita  mountains,  Indian  Territory,  when 
on  the  Bill  Blank  operation.  They  had  lately  moved  out 
into  this  wild  country.  No  doubt  the  lady  thought  "Glen" 
and  I  were  inseparable,  and  that  I  had  been  riding  him 
ever  since  she  last  saw  us.  I  was  in  a  great  hurry  and 
couldn't  give  an  account  of  myself. 

On  returning  to  Santa  Fe,  I  received  a  telegram  from 
Sayles,  saying  that  he  had  found  the  right  trail,  going 
through  Pagosa  Springs,  and  over  Mosca  Pass  into  the 


314  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Wet  Mountain  Valley.  Shortly  after  rejoining  Sayles 
south  of  Canyon  City,  Colorado,  we  lost  the  trail  again. 
He  then  went  to  Cripple  Creek  on  a  false  scent,  while 
I  went  east  and  picked  up  the  trail  by  tramping 
afoot  ten  miles  from  a  little  railroad  station  where  there 
was  no  horse  to  be  hired.  In  Cucharas  Junction  the  trail 
crossed  the  railroad  and  headed  for  Rattlesnake  Buttes, 
towards  the  Arkansas  river. 

Of  course  I  kept  the  Denver  officials  of  our  office 
posted  by  wire. 

Sayles  was  called  in  and  sent  to  Montana  to  work  on 
a  clue  as  to  where  some  of  the  stolen  money  which  had 
been  sent  to  the  City  of  Washington  had  come  from.  I 
continued  to  follow  the  trail  down  the  Arkansas  river. 

In  Lamar,  Colorado,  I  met  my  friend  Newt  Parrish 
who  was  in  a  bank  there.  He  and  his  lovely  wife  and 
I  had  become  acquainted  out  in  the  Wet  Mountain 
Valley  several  years  previous,  when  I  was  chasing  a 
tough  character  for  Henry  Tompkins,  the  hardware 
merchant  prince  of  Colorado.  I  had  spent  two  months 
on  that  operation  playing  outlaw,  cowboy,  and  miner, 
but  I  overlooked  giving  an  acount  of  it  in  the  proper 
place  herein. 

Finally  I  landed  in  Dodge  City,  Kansas,  and  found 
that  my  men  and  horses  had  passed  through  there  on 
their  way  down  the  Arkansas  river;  but  I  concluded  to 
lay  over  a  half  day  and  note  the  changes  in  this  the 
toughest  of  all  early-day  western  cattle  towns. 

In  looking  over  the  prosperous  town  I  found  many 
old  landmarks  in  the  way  of  buildings,  etc.,  but  only  one 
live  one,  the  live  one  being  old  "Dog  Kelly,"  the  early- 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  315 

day  mayor  of  Dodge  City.  He  was  nicknamed  "Dog 
Kelly"  because  in  the  early  days  he  always  had  a  pack 
of  greyhounds  following  at  his  heels;  and  the  strange 
part  of  this  story  is  that  the  dogs  were  still  with  him, 
though  not  the  same  dogs,  of  course. 

After  Kelly  and  I  had  a  few  drinks  we  began  to  "hark 
back"  to  1877  when  my  friend  Jim  Kennedy,  son  of 
the  Texas  "Cattle-King"  shot  at  the  Hon.  "Dog  Kelly" 
and  killed  his  "lady"  companion,  and  how  Bat  Master- 
son  and  a  gang  waylaid  Jim  Kennedy  by  hiding  behind 
an  old  well  dump  at  Mead  City  and  shot  him  as  he 
rode  by. 

This  brought  to  my  mind  how  near  I  came  to  being 
put  out  of  business  by  this  afterwards  noted  Bat  Master- 
son.  It  happened  in  July,  1877.  Dodge  City  was  then  one 
year  old,  and  she  had  a  graveyard  with  81  men  sleeping 
their  last  sleep.  One  of  these  had  died  a  natural  death 
and  the  other  80  with  their  boots  on,  in  other  words, 
were  killed.  A  fine  record  for  a  year  old  town. 

I  had  landed  in  Dodge  City  with  one  of  the  Little- 
field  cattle  herds  from  Texas.  One  night  "Wess"  Adams, 
a  cowboy  chum,  and  I  rode  into  town  to  have  a  good 
time.  There  were  several  dance-halls  in  full  swing,  but 
we  settled  on  the  Lone- Star  dance  hall  as  the  "girls" 
there  seemed  better  looking  and  the  name  had  a  Texas 
flavor.  Bat  Masterson  was  the  night  bar-keeper. 

About  1 1  :oo  p.  M.  "Wess"  Adams  called  me  outside 
and  told  me  how  he  had  been  insulted  by  a  big  long 
haired  buffalo-hunter  by  the  name  of  Jim  White,  and  he 
said  this  fellow  ought  to  be  taught  a  lesson  to  show  him 
that  the  killers  of  buffalo  are  not  in  the  cowboy  class. 


316  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

He  then  asked  if  I  would  stay  with  him  in  a  fight.  Being 
a  fool  boy,  and  realizing  the  disgrace  of  a  cowboy 
quitting  a  chum  in  time  of  danger,  I  told  him  to  go 
ahead  and  start  the  ball  to  rolling;  that  I  would  stay 
with  him. 

Our  horses  were  taken  out  of  the  livery  stable  and 
tied  in  front  of  the  Lone-Star  dance-hall.  Of  course 
we  both  had  on  Colts  45  pistols.  The  hall  was  filled 
with  cowboys  and  buffalo-hunters.  When  the  fight 
started,  Bat  Masterson,  who  was  behind  the  bar, 
gathered  a  lot  of  heavy  beer  glasses  together  and  began 
throwing  them  in  the  direction  of  my  head.  One  glanced 
from  the  side  of  my  head  and  hit  the  wall  nearby.  Pieces 
of  the  broken  glass  struck  me  in  the  face,  drawing  blood. 
This  was  the  only  blood  lost  by  yours  truly.  When  Bat 
had  no  more  glasses  to  throw,  he  came  running  from 
behind  the  bar  with  an  ice  mallet.  He  started  in  on 
a  big  dutch  cowboy  who  had  no  hand  in  the  fight,  which 
was  then  raging  between  a  dozen  cowboys  and  buffalo- 
hunters.  It  was  a  shame  the  way  that  poor  Dutchman 
got  his  face  mashed.  The  blood  flew  every  time  Bat 
struck  with  the  ice  mallet.  I  was  too  busy  helping  my 
chum,  to  go  to  Dutchy's  assistance,  though  I  would 
have  liked  to. 

There  wasn't  a  shot  fired,  but  in  two  instances  pistols 
were  used  as  clubs  to  knock  men  down. 

After  long-haired  Jim  White  was  lying  on  the  floor 
apparently  dead,  with  blood  flowing  from  wounds  in  the 
head,  and  I  had  seen  a  buffalo  hunter  stab  my  partner 
in  the  back,  I  dragged  "Wess"  to  the  door  and  out  to  the 
sidewalk  where  we  both  mounted  our  horses.  Just  as 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  317 

we  did  so,  an  officer,  I  think  Joe  Mason,  ran  up  and 
demanded  our  arrest,  but  we  didn't  surrender  worth 
a  cent.  We  just  jumped  our  horses  towards  the  side 
walk  and  with  drawn  pistols  made  the  policeman  get 
back  into  the  little  hallway  from  whence  he  had  come. 

We  then  put  spurs  to  our  horses  and  rode  east  out  of 
town  on  the  run,  and  yelling  cowboy  fashion.  Of  course 
we  were  both  half  drunk  on  the  poisonous  liquor  passed 
over  the  bar  by  Bat  Masterson,  now  one  of  President 
Roosevelt's  pet  revenue  officers  of  New  York  state. 

On  reaching  the  stock  yards  a  mile  east  of  town,  we 
dismounted  and  went  into  the  little  board  shanty  to 
examine  "Wess"  Adams'  wound.  Laying  him  on  his 
stomach  I  pulled  his  shirts  over  his  shoulders  and  found 
a  horrible  knife-wound  under  the  right  shoulder  blade. 
The  knife  had  been  thrust  in  and  then  brought  around 
in  a  semi-circle  in  the  shape  of  a  large  horseshoe.  The 
open  part  of  the  shoe  is  where  the  flesh  was  not  cut, 
and  the  other  part  of  the  wound  the  flesh  stood  out 
several  inches  from  the  body.  The  clothing  was  satur 
ated  with  blood.  Lighted  matches  had  to  be  used  in 
order  to  see.  I  told  Adams  that  the  wound  was  serious, 
and  for  him  to  lie  there  until  I  could  ride  back  to  town 
and  get  some  medicine  and  a  needle  and  thread  to  sew 
up  the  wound. 

Getting  on  my  pet  horse,  Whisky  Pete,  I  rode  fast, 
but  on  nearing  town  I  became  "foxy"  and  thought  pos 
sibly  the  officers  might  be  watching  for  our  return,  and 
this  "foxy"  part  of  my  makeup  saved  my  bacon.  For, 
about  fifteen  years  later,  Supt.  Jas.  McCartney,  in  Den 
ver,  introduced  me  to  Bat  Masterson,  and  in  telling  him 


318  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

of  my  part  in  the  fight  at  the  Lone-Star  dance-hall,  he 
told  how  he  and  a  gang  of  officers  had  followed  us  to 
the  edge  of  town  and  there  on  each  side  of  the  road, 
concealed  themselves  from  view,  thinking  we  would 
take  a  notion  to  return.  He  said  they  were  armed  with 
rifles  and  shot-guns  and  intended  to  make  angels  of  us 
if  we  returned.  He  said  they  stood  guard  till  morning. 
They  were  no  doubt  anxious  to  increase  the  size  of  the 
cemetery,  at  that  time  the  pride  of  the  town. 

By  riding  south  in  a  deep  arroyo,  I  struck  the  rail 
road  track  and  followed  this  into  town.  Riding  up  to 
the  rear  of  a  drug  store  I  kicked  on  the  door  till  the 
angry  old  Dutchman  in  his  night-shirt  opened  the  door. 
After  purchasing  needles  and  thread,  sticking  plaster 
and  a  candle,  I  returned  to  the  stock  yards  the  same  way 
I  had  come. 

I  found  poor  Adams  groaning  with  pain,  but  he  kicked 
like  a  bronco  steer  when  my  knee  was  put  on  the  wound 
to  force  the  swollen  flesh  back  in  its  place  so  that  it  could 
be  sewed  up.  The  horseshoe  shaped  protruding  flesh 
could  not  be  pushed  back  in  place  on  a  level  with  the 
rest  of  the  body,  therefore  I  had  to  discard  the  needle 
and  thread  and  use  sticking  plaster. 

We  had  an  18  mile  ride  to  make  to  the  Bates  &  Beals 
cattle  camp,  and  towards  the  last  part  of  the  ride  I 
had  to  hold  Adams  on  his  horse,  he  was  so  weak  from 
loss  of  blood.  We  arrived  in  camp  long  after  daylight. 
We  had  both  hired  out  to  this  firm  to  drive  a  bunch  of 
steers  into  the  wild  Panhandle  of  Texas,  and  there  help 
to  establish  a  new  ranch. 

From  "boys"  who  went  into  Dodge  City  next  day, 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  319 

we  learned  that  long-haired  Jim  White,  who  was  the 
boss  of  a  large  gang  of  buffalo-hunters,  was  not  dead, 
though  very  low.  His  skull  was  cracked  in  several 
places  and  a  lot  of  sewing  had  to  be  done  on  his  many 
wounds.  He  finally  recovered.  It  was  one  of  White's 
men  who  had  stabbed  Adams. 

Our  "boys"  reported  that  the  officers  had  no  suspicion 
as  to  who  Adams  and  I  were. 

In  the  course  of  a  couple  of  weeks,  Adams  was  able 
to  ride. 

This  little  scrape  illustrates  what  fools  cowboys  were 
after  long  drives  over  the  trail.  Had  a  shot  been  fired 
that  night  in  the  dance-hall  as  a  starter,  the  chances  are 
several  new  mounds  would  have  been  added  to  that  fat 
graveyard. 

I  continued  on  the  trail  of  my  two  train-robbers,  on 
horse-back,  in  buggies  and  on  trains.  They  passed 
through  the  outskirts  of  Wichita,  where  I  spent  one  night 
visiting  old  friends  and  acquaintances.  Among  them 
were  Bedford  Wood,  ex-city  marshal  of  Caldwell,  Kan 
sas,  now  a  city  detective  in  Wichita,  and  "Dynamite" 
David  Lahey,  a  brilliant  newspaper  writer  of  early  border 
days ;  also  Jack  Davis,  proprietor  of  a  white  bull  dog 
and  the  swell  Club  Saloon  of  Wichita. 

After  retiring  for  the  night  in  this  prosperous  little 
city  of  25,000  people,  my  mind  naturally  drifted  back  to 
a  summer  night  in  1876  when  I  entered  the  place,  then  a 
village  of  the  wild  and  woolly  kind  with  about  2,000 
population. 

I  had  just  arrived  from  a  three  months'  cattle  drive 
up  the  Chisholm  trail  from  Southern  Texas,  and  during 


330  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

the  night  I  was  arrested  by  policeman  Mike  Meagher, 
who  afterwards  became  town  marshal  of  Caldwell,  Kans. 
and  was  shot  and  killed  in  the  bloody  Talbot  cowboy 
raid  on  Caldwell,  when  the  streets  were  made  red  with 
human  blood.  But  Mike  Meagher  was  a  kind-hearted 
officer  and  on  account  of  my  youth  liberated  me  after 
a  few  words  of  friendly  advice. 

Another  cowboy  and  I  had  tried  to  play  smart  by 
scaring  the  old  fellow  who  kept  the  toll  bridge  across 
the  Arkansas  river,  and  at  the  same  time  beat  him  out 
of  the  toll  which  was  25  cents  each.  We  cared  nothing 
for  the  money  as  our  pockets  were  bulging  out  with  a 
summer's  wages.  We  were  on  our  way  from  the  town 
proper,  to  the  Red  Light  dance-hall  across  the  river. 
When  the  bridge  man  came  out  of  his  shaaty  to  collect 
the  toll  we  both  put  spurs  to  our  horses  and  pulling  our 
pistols  began  shooting  into  the  air.  The  old  man  jumped 
into  his  shanty  and  came  out  with  a  double-barrel  shot 
gun.  By  that  time  we  were  nearly  across  the  bridge  and 
our  pistols  were  empty,  but  the  old  fellow  turned  both 
barrels  loose  at  us  and  we  could  hear  the  buckshot 
rattling  along  the  bridge  at  our  horses'  feet.  One  shot 
struck  me  in  the  calf  of  the  right  leg,  leaving  a  mark  to 
this  day  as  a  reminder  of  the  hurrah  cattle  days  of 
Wichita,  where  the  noted  "Wild  Bill"  Hecock  made  his 
first  record  as  a  man-killer,  while  marshal  of  that  town. 

From  here  I  followed  the  trail  south  to  Caldwell, 
Kansas. 

In  this  former  hurrah  cattle  town,  where  I  once  made 
my  home  for  about  two  years,  I  met  many  old-time 
friends,  too  numerous  to  mention.  Among  them  were 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  321 

only  two  ex-cowboys,  Jay  Willis  and  "Dick"  Malone, 
and  a  solitary  ex-cattle  king,  Sol.  Tuttle. 

My  friend  "Dick"  had  drifted  to  bleeding  Kansas  with 
a  herd  of  longhorns  from  Southern  Texas.  And  his 
inclination  then  was  to  help  paint  towns  red.  But  now 
he  does  his  painting  with  a  brush  instead  of  with  "red 
licker"  and  a  six-shooter.  He  is  following  his  trade  of 
painting  houses  and  ceilings  sky  blue,  and  in  living 
happily  with  a  pretty  wife  and  sweet  little  daughter, 
Katherine. 

From  Caldwell  the  robbers  followed  the  Indian  Terri 
tory  and  Kansas  line  to  Arkansas  City,  Kansas.  Here 
I  continued  on  the  trail  to  Winfield,  thence  to  Coffee- 
ville  and  into  the  Indian  Territory  through  the  towns 
of  Wagner  and  Tahlequah  to  Ft.  Smith,  Arkansas. 

Before  reaching  Ft.  Smith  I  was  joined  by  operative 
Darkbird  who  had  been  sent  from  Denver  to  assist  me. 
We  trailed  the  men  and  horses  through  Pine  Bluff  and 
to  Hot  Springs,  Arkansas.  Here  we  lost  the  trail.  We 
split  up  and  searched  the  surrounding  country.  Soon 
I  received  a  telegram  from  Darkbird  in  Tennessee  tell 
ing  me  to  meet  him  in  Nashville,  the  capital  city  of  that 
state,  as  our  men  had  got  rid  of  their  horses  and  boarded 
a  train  for  there.  I  hurried  to  Nashville  by  way  of  St. 
Louis,  Missouri,  where  I  spent  one  night  with  my  sister 
and  her  family.  In  Nashville  I  met  operative  Darkbird 
and  found  he  had  followed  a  wrong  trail.  The  men 
he  had  followed  were  evidently  desperadoes,  but  not 
the  ones  we  wanted. 

Here  Darkbird  became  sick  with  malaria  and  returned 
to  Denver. 

21 


322  A   COWBOY   DETECTIVE 

A  couple  of  years  later  in  looking  over  correspondence 
on  this  operation,  I  found  one  of  Mr.  W.  L.  Dickenson's 
letters  to  Gen.  Supt.  McCartney.  It  was  dated  Chicago, 
Dec.  22nd,  1899,  and  stated: 

"I  note  that  operative  Siringo  has  picked  up  the  trail 
of  these  men  at  Benton,  Arkansas,  and  that  operative 
Darkbird  has  returned  home,  being  very  sick  with  ma 
laria.  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  of  operative  Darkbird's 
illness.  The  swamp  country  through  which  he  passed 
has  evidently  knocked  him  out.  I  fear  it  may  do  the 
same  with  Siringo,  but  he  is  as  tough  as  a  pine  knot 
and  I  never  knew  of  a  man  of  his  size  who  can  endure 
as  much  hardship  as  he  does." 

It  gave  me  much  satisfaction  to  know  that  I  was 
considered  tough,  in  more  ways  than  one. 

In  Nashville  I  saw  more  pretty  girls  to  the  square 
inch  than  I  had  ever  seen  before  or  ever  expect  to  see 
again.  I  sat  at  a  dinner  table  with  about  a  dozen  col 
lege  girls  and  each  one  was  a  beauty  of  the  first  water, 
and  on  the  streets  my  neck  was  almost  disjointed  looking 
around  at  pretty  young  women.  I  was  glad  to  get  away 
so  as  to  give  my  eyes  and  neck  a  rest. 

Arriving  back  in  Hot  Springs,  Ark.,  I  hired  a  saddle 
horse  and  searched  the  mountains  for  a  trace  of  my  men. 
This  brought  me  among  a  queer  class  of  people,  some 
of  them  moonshiners.  One  old  moonshiner  assisted  in 
putting  me  on  the  right  trail  of  the  robbers.  Their  trail 
led  through  Little  Rock,  the  capital  of  the  state,  thence 
down  the  Arkansas  river  through  the  swamps  to  a  wild 
unsettled  country  25  miles  south  of  Stuttgart.  Here  the 
loose  horses  were  turned  over  to  a  long-haired  old  man, 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  323 

who  had  outlaw  sons,  by  the  name  of  La  Cutts,  who 
lived  in  De  Witt,  not  far  from  the  mouth  of  the  Ar 
kansas  river. 

The  robbers  mounted  the  pretty  cream  colored  and 
the  dapple  iron-gray  horses  and  headed  north  to  White 
River,  thence  down  that  stream  to  Clarendon,  then  due 
east  to  Helena  on  the  Mississippi  river.  Crossing  the 
"Father  of  Waters"  they  passed  through  Glendale  and 
Lula,  Mississippi,  thence  east  one  hundred  miles  through 
the  "Black  Belt,"  where  in  some  places  negroes  are 
thicker  than  flies  on  a  syrup  keg  in  August.  They  then 
rode  one  hundred  miles  south,  thence  back  west  to  the 
Mississippi  river  at  a  boat  landing  above  the  town  of 
Rosedale.  Here  both  robbers  hired  a  man  to  ferry  them 
across  the  Mississippi  to  the  mouth  of  the  Arkansas 
river,  after  their  horses  and  saddles  had  been  turned  over 
to  a  strange  negro  man  who  disappeared  in  the  swamps. 

At  the  mouth  of  the  Arkansas  river  one  robber,  whose 
name  I  had  reason  to  believe  was  Owens,  and  who  was 
a  desperate  outlaw,  went  up  the  Arkansas  river  in  a  skiff, 
while  his  companion  boarded  a  little  tramp  steamer  and 
went  down  the  "Father  of  Waters."  They  had  agreed 
to  meet  in  two  weeks,  but  I  couldn't  find  out  where.  This 
put  me  up  a  stump  with  no  chance  to  proceed. 

I  went  to  the  City  of  Vicksburg,  Miss.,  and  posted 
officers  to  be  on  the  look  out  for  my  men ;  also  did  like 
wise  in  the  large  towns  of  Indianola,  Greenville  and 
Cleveland. 

While  trailing  these  men  through  the  swamps  of  Mis 
sissippi  among  the  negroes,  I  had  more  fun  than  a 
bushel  of  monkeys  over  the  comical  antics  of  these  green 


324  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

black  men  and  women  and  their  kinky-headed  pickanin 
nies. 

Often  I  had  to  walk  through  the  deep  mud  when  a 
horse  or  vehicle  couldn't  be  hired.  And  my  feed  was 
mostly  corn  bread,  sorgum  syrup  and  fat  bacon. 

Finally  I  received  orders  to  give  up  the  chase  and 
return  to  Denver,  as  my  services  were  needed  in  Mon 
tana  on  the  same  operation. 

On  quitting  the  chase  I  was  about  three  weeks  behind 
the  two  train  robbers. 

In  Denver  I  was  informed  by  Asst.  Supt.  "Rank" 
Curran,  who  had  charge  of  the  U.  P.  Ry.  train  holdup 
operation,  that  W.  O.  Sayles  had  run  into  a  brother, 
Loney  Curry,  and  a  cousin,  Bob  Curry,  of  the  noted 
outlaw  "Kid"  Curry,  in  Harlin,  Mont. ;  that  Loney  and 
Bob  owned  a  saloon  there  and  had  sent  some  of  the  un 
signed  bills  stolen  in  the  Silcox,  Wyo.,  robbery,  off  to 
be  cashed.  In  this  way  they  were  located,  but  sold  their 
saloon  and  skipped  out  before  Sayles  had  a  chance  to 
arrest  them.  They  had  become  suspicious  of  Sayles, 
so  for  that  reason  he  could  not  work  on  their  friends 
secretly. 

Sayles  had  found  out  that  the  right  names  of  Kid 
and  Loney  Curry  were  Harvey  and  Loney  Logan  and 
that  they  were  born  and  raised  in  Dodson,  Mo.,  near 
Kansas  City,  and  that  for  years  they  had  been  making 
their  headquarters  in  the  Little  Rockies,  a  small  range 
of  mountains  50  miles  east  of  Harlin,  the  railroad  sta 
tion  where  Bob  and  Loney  had  owned  the  saloon.  There 
fore,  I  was  instructed  to  meet  Sayles  in  Helena,  the 
capital  of  Montana,  and  then  buy  a  horse  and  saddle  at 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  325 

some  point  and  ride  into  the  Little  Rockies  and  get  in 
with  the  friends  of  the  Logan  brothers. 

So  finally,  with  several  hundred  dollars  in  my  pocket 
I  started  for  Helena,  Mont.  I  took  along  instructions  for 
Sayles  to  hurry  on  direct  to  San  Francico,  Cal.,  there 
to  start  in  as  Asst.  Supt.  of  the  Dickenson  office  in  that 
city.  There  was  to  be  a  change  of  superintendents  in 
the  San  Francisco  office,  and  they  wanted  Sayles  to 
learn  the  office  work  by  starting  in  as  an  assistant.  He 
was  appointed  superintendent  soon  after  arriving  in 
San  Francisco. 

General  Supt.  of  the  Western  Division,  Jas.  McCart 
ney,  had  tried  to  induce  me  to  accept  the  position  of 
Asst.  Supt.  of  the  San  Francisco  office  before  it  was 
offered  to  Sayles,  but  I  refused  it.  I  told  him  that  if 
he  should  ever  die  and  the  Dickensons  should  offer  me 
his  position  I  might  consider  it,  but  wouldn't  promise 
that  I  would  accept  it.  The  truth  is,  I  didn't  want  to 
be  tied  down  in  an  office,  even  with  an  advance  in  salary 
and  a  chance  to  swell  up  with  self-importance. 

In  Helena,  Mont.,  I  visited  with  W.  O.  Sayles  and 
detective  M.  B.  Wilmers  a  couple  of  days.  Sayles  gave 
me  much  information  about  the  Little  Rockies,  although 
he  had  not  been  there  himself,  but  he  had  talked  with 
many  men  who  had. 

It  was  thought  best  for  me  to  outfit  in  Great  Falls 
and  ride  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  across  the 
"bad  lands,"  to  Landusky,  the  small  cattle  town  in  the 
Little  Rocky  mountains. 

Bidding  Sayles  goodby  I  boarded  a  train  for  Great 
Falls,  Mont.,  where  I  bought  a  bucking  broncho  mare  and 


326  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

started  east  for  Lewiston,  Mont.,  about  three  days'  ride. 
In  Lewiston  a  severe  blizzard  was  raging,  it  being  about 
the  latter  part  of  February.  I  waited  two  days  for  it 
to  moderate,  but  it  seemed  to  grow  worse.  Therefore, 
a  start  was  made  one  morning  when  the  thermometer 
registered  about  20  below  zero,  and  with  the  wind  blow 
ing  a  gale.  The  people  at  the  hotel  advised  me  not  to 
start,  and  I  wished  before  night  that  I  had  heeded  their 
advice. 

My  route  lay  over  a  flat  country  north  to  Rocky  Point 
on  the  Missouri  river,  a  distance  of  about  80  miles,  and 
only  one  ranch  on  the  route.  It  was  this  ranch  that  I 
aimed  to  reach  before  night.  After  traveling  against 
this  cold  wind  about  15  miles  I  could  stand  it  no  longer. 
My  mare  could  hardly  be  kept  headed  towards  the  bliz 
zard.  I  had  a  woolen  hood  over  my  face  and  head  and 
even  then  my  nose  and  ears  were  about  frozen.  I  could 
see  the  mountains  off  to  the  east  where  I  had  been  told 
the  mining  camp  of  Gilt  Edge  was  situated,  so  for  there 
I  headed,  not  caring  to  return  to  Lewiston.  About  night 
I  struck  the  wagon  road  between  Gilt  Edge  and  Lewis- 
ton,  and  then  I  was  happy. 

A  long  climb  over  this  mountain  range  brought  me 
into  the  live  camp  of  Gilt  Edge  about  four  hours  after 
dark.  I  felt  like  a  half  frozen  fool  for  ever  having 
undertaken  such  a  journey.  But  after  I  had  gotten  on 
the  outside  of  a  large  porterhouse  steak  and  the  trim 
mings,  which  included  two  hot  whiskies,  I  began  to 
thaw  out  and  felt  better. 

Next  morning  I  concluded  to  take  a  different  route 
to  the  Rocky  Point  crossing  of  the  Missouri  river.  There- 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  327 

fore  I  obtained  a  sketch  of  the  route  to  the  "Red  Barn" 
on  the  south  border  of  the  "Bad  Lands."  A  hard,  cold 
ride  brought  me  to  the  "Red  Barn"  ranch,  where  I  found 
a  crowd  of  cowboys  congregated  waiting  for  the  weather 
to  moderate.  From  here  it  was  30  miles  across  the 
"Bad  Lands"  to  Rocky  Point,  and  I  was  advised  to  lay 
over  a  few  days  and  wait  for  a  "Chinook"  wind  to  melt 
the  snow  so  that  the  dim  road  could  be  followed.  I  did 
so,  and  while  waiting,  I  gained  some  information  about 
the  "Kid"  Curry  gang.  Loney  Curry  had  stopped  here 
before  and  after  the  Silcox  train  robbery  on  the  U.  P. 
Railway. 

I  started  one  morning  after  a  "Chinook"  had  been 
blowing  all  night,  so  that  the  snow  was  almost  gone, 
but  the  sticky  mud  on  the  "Bad  Lands"  was  something 
fearful.  It  would  stick  to  the  mare's  feet  till  the  poor 
animal  could  hardly  gallop.  I  had  seen  many  kinds  of 
sticky  mud  in  my  life,  but  nothing  to  equal  this. 

The  warm  wind  was  blowing  a  gale,  and  soon  after 
leaving  the  "Red  Barn"  I  had  a  race  after  my  broad 
brim  cowboy  hat  which  made  me  swear  and  laugh  by 
turns.  The  country  was  level,  and  when  my  hat  blew  off 
the  wind  took  it  "a  sailing"  across  the  country.  It  went 
like  a  wheel,  on  edge,  and  I  tried  to  keep  up  with  it, 
but  my  mare  was  handicapped  in  the  race  on  account  of 
the  balls  of  mud  sticking  to  her  hoofs.  After  a  mile 
and  a  half  run  I  outwinded  the  hat  and  caught  it,  but 
in  getting  off  in  the  mud  to  pick  it  up  after  I  had  made 
the  mare  step  on  it,  I  found  I  couldn't  get  my  foot  in  the 
stirrup,  owing  to  the  mud  which  was  stuck  fast  to  it. 
Here  my  early  cowboy  training  in  the  art  of  fancy  swear- 


328  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

ing  came  in  play,  as  it  seemed  to  relieve  my  mind,  while 
the  mud  was  being  scraped  off  my  foot  with  a  knife. 

I  had  been  told  of  the  many  dim  wagon  roads  leading 
in  different  directions,  which  were  liable  to  lead  me 
astray,  and  this  gave  me  much  worry  when  I  came  to 
the  forks  of  a  road.  The  thoughts  of  a  blizzard  striking 
me  on  these  "Bad  Lands"  where  there  is  no  wood  or 
habitation,  caused  cold  shivers  to  run  down  my  back 
whenever  the  dim  trail  seemed  to  be  bearing  away  from 
a  north  course.  It  was  a  cloudy  day  so  that  I  couldn't 
tell  for  sure  which  was  north. 

Just  as  night  was  approaching  I  found  a  piece  of  glass 
from  a  telegraph  pole.  This  satisfied  me  that  I  was  on 
the  right  road,  hence  I  was  happy.  I  had  been  told  that 
in  the  early  days  the  government  had  a  telegraph  line 
on  the  road  to  Rocky  Point,  but  that  the  line  had  been 
moved  away  years  before.  I  still  keep  that  piece  of 
green  glass,  as  it  had  brought  good  cheer  to  my  droop 
ing  spirits. 

I  arrived  in  Rocky  Point  on  the  south  bank  of  the 
Big  Muddy  river  three  hours  after  dark.  Here  I  found 
old  man  Tyler  and  his  son  running  the  ferry  and  keeping 
a  small  Indian  trading  store. 

My  mare  had  only  traveled  30  miles,  but  she  had 
carried  about  75  pounds  of  mud  across  the  "Bad  Lands," 
hence  she  was  almost  played  out  on  arriving  at  Rocky 
Point. 

I  had  often  heard  of  the  "Bad  Lands"  and  wanted  to 
visit  them,  but  now  that  desire  has  vanished. 

Before  reaching  the  Little  Rockies,  I  learned  that 
outlaw  Harvey  Logan,  alias  Kid  Curry,  had  a  half  in- 


329 

terest  in  a  horse  ranch  "with  one  Jim  T. ;  that  they  owned 
about  500  head  of  good  horses  which  ranged  in  the 
Little  Rockies. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  on  reaching  Landusky,  the 
small  village  in  the  Little  Rockies,  I  made  the  acquaint 
ance  of  Jim  T.  through  an  accident.  In  riding  by  the 
saloon  in  front  of  which  were  a  crowd  of  rough  looking 
men,  my  mare  shied  and  I  spurred  her  in  the  flanks. 
She  began  bucking  and  old  Colts  45  flew  out  of  the 
scabbard,  striking  a  rock  in  the  street.  When  the  mare 
quit  bucking,  Jim  T.  gave  me  the  pistol  which  he  had 
picked  up.  This  meant  a  treat  for  the  crowd,  and  I 
became  acquainted  with  the  partner  of  "Kid  Curry,"  the 
slickest  and  most  bloodthirsty  outlaw  of  the  age. 

To  recite  all  my  ups  and  downs  and  the  valuable  in 
formation  about  outlaws  and  tough  characters  secured 
for  my  agency  would  take  up  too  much  space.  Suffice 
it  to  say  that  I  played  myself  off  for  an  old  Mexico 
outlaw  and  became  "Solid  Muldoon"  with  the  worst 
people  of  the  community.  I  had  adopted  the  name  of 
Chas.  L.  Carter. 

Harvey  Logan  had  killed  old  Pike  Landusky,  the  man 
for  whom  this  town  was  named,  several  years  previous, 
which  first  started  him  on  the  road  as  a  genuine  des 
perado.  Jim  T.  informed  me  that  he  advised  Harvey 
to  kill  Landusky,  and  for  that  reason  he  will  always  be 
his  friend  through  thick  and  thin. 

Pike  Landusky's  widow,  Julia,  still  resided  on  their 
ranch  two  miles  out  of  town.  The  family  consisted  of 
two  boys  and  three  girls.  One  of  these  girls,  Elfie,  20 
years  of  age  and  good  looking,  had  a  three-year-old  son 


330  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

by  Loney  Logan.  They  had  never  been  married  by  law, 
which  seemed  no  disgrace  here. 

In  trying  to  capture  Loney  Logan  at  Dodson,  Missouri, 
where  he  was  in  hiding  with  his  aunt,  Mrs.  Lee,  mother 
to  Bob  Lee,  alias  "Bob  Curry,"  by  officials  of  the  Dick- 
enson  agency  (my  friend  Tom  F.  Kipple  being  at  the 
killing)  he  was  shot  through  the  head  and  killed. 

I  had  made  myself  "solid"  with  Elfie  Curry,  as  she 
was  called,  hence  read  all  of  her  letters  and  was  told 
all  of  her  secrets.  She  had  stacks  of  letters  from  her 
husband,  as  she  called  Loney,  and  also  from  Mrs.  Lee 
and  her  daughter,  and  during  Bob  Lee's  trial  in  Chey 
enne,  Wyo.,  she  received  letters  from  the  lawyers  whom 
Mrs.  Lee  had  sent  from  Kansas  City,  Mo.,  to  defend 
her  son.  As  I  had  free  access  to  Elfie's  trunks  I  could 
read  these  letters  at  any  time. 

The  Kansas  City  lawyer  came  to  Landusky  after  evi 
dence  to  prove  an  alibi  for  Bob  Lee,  and  while  he  was 
working  with  Elfie  and  Jim  T.,  I  was  introduced  to  him, 
and  learned  all  of  his  secrets.  Jim  T.  would  meet  him 
at  Elfie's  house  in  town. 

During  the  round-ups  and  horse  branding  trips  I 
showed  my  skill  in  throwing  a  rope.  This  made  me 
solid  with  Jim  T.  who  lived  with  his  common-law  wife 
on  a  ranch  a  few  miles  south  of  Landusky.  They  had  a 
bright  little  three-year-old  boy  named  Harvey  in  honor  of 
the  outlaw  Harvey  Logan.  This  little  fellow  felt  at  home 
with  a  small  pistol  buckled  around  his  waist, — then  he 
would  go  wild.  A  high  picket  fence  had  to  be  built 
around  the  house  to  keep  him  from  running  away. 

One  evening  during  the  past  winter  when  the  ther- 


LITTLE  HARVEY  T.  AND  His  DOG. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  331 

mometer  was  hovering  about  zero,  little  Harvey  struck 
out  for  "tall  timber"  with  his  pet  dog,  a  large  yellow 
cur.  They  tramped  the  hills  all  night.  Next  morning 
the  whole  population  of  Landusky,  in  the  male  line, 
about  twenty-five  men,  were  out  searching  for  the  child's 
corpse,  as  it  was  thought  impossible  for  a  boy  of  his 
tender  age  to  endure  the  bitter  cold  night.  But  the 
little  fellow  proved  to  be  tough  like  his  daddy.  He  was 
found  in  the  afternoon  many  miles  from  home,  huddled 
up  by  the  side  of  his  pet  dog,  fast  asleep.  The  warmth 
from  the  dog's  body  had  no  doubt  saved  his  life. 

This  boy  is  pretty  good  material  for  a  future  train- 
robber.  He  says  that  will  be  his  occupation,  and  his 
father  encourages  him,  as  he  says  he  would  like  to  see 
him  prove  as  brave  a  man  as  his  namesake,  Harvey 
Logan. 

"Like  begets  like"  is  a  true  saying.  There  is  no 
doubt  but  that  Jim  T.  was  a  hard  case  and  landed  in 
Montana  under  an  assumed  name. 

Mrs.  Julia  Landusky  gave  me  many  inside  facts  of 
Jim  T.  and  his  actions  when  he  first  landed  in  the  Little 
Rockies  as  a  slender  young  man.  Now  he  is  a  middle- 
aged,  large,  heavy  man. 

Judging  from  the  time  he  came  to  the  Little  Rockies 
and  his  description  as  given  by  Mrs  Landusky,  Mr. 
W.  L.  Dickenson  is  confident  Jim  T.  is  no  other  than 
"Dad"  Jackson  of  the  noted  Sam  Bass  gang  who  robbei 
the  Union  Pacific  train  near  Ogalalla,  Nebraska,  in  the 
early  '7o's.  Most  of  this  gang  were  killed  or  sent  to 
the  penitentiary  for  this  hold-up,  "Dad"  Jackson  being 
the  only  one  who  made  his  "get-away."  Mr.  Dickenson, 


332  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

who  was  then  an  operative  in  the  agency,  worked  on 
the  case. 

Shortly  after  my  arrival  in  the  Little  Rockies  I  re- 
jceived  a  ducking  in  the  cold  icy  waters  of  a  branch  of 
Milk  river.  I  was  going  to  Harlin  on  the  Great  North 
ern  railroad,  with  Puck  Powell,  the  ex-cowboy  post 
master  of  Landusky.  We  were  the  only  passengers  in 
the  open  stage  coach  drawn  by  four  horses.  On  reach 
ing  the  swollen  stream  which  was  full  of  broken  ice, 
we  persuaded  the  kid  driver  to  swim  the  team  across. 
When  out  in  mid-stream  the  large  chunks  of  ice  struck 
the  stage  coach,  carrying  horses  and  all  down  stream. 
The  spring  seats  were  all  that  showed  above  water,  and 
Puck,  the  driver  and  I,  were  upon  these.  We  were  hav 
ing  a  free  ride  with  the  poor  horses  trying  to  swim  up 
stream.  Something  had  to  be  done  to  save  the  horses 
from  dirowning,  so  with  all  my  clothes  on  I  jumped  into 
the  icy  cold  water.  On  reaching  the  bank  in  a  bend  of 
the  creek  the  driver  threw  me  the  lines.  The  lead  horses 
were  pulled  ashore  and  the  vehicle  swung  around  against 
the  steep  clay  bank,  so  that  Puck  and  the  driver  could 
step  off  without  getting  wet. 

Undressing  in  the  cold  wind  to  wring  the  water  out 
of  my  clothes,  gave  me  a  taste  of  old-time  cowboy  life. 
We  didn't  reach  the  stage  station  until  dark. 

During  the  month  of  June,  I  came  within  an  ace  of 
losing  my  breath,  which  would  have  put  me  out  of  busi 
ness  for  all  time. 

I  was  at  Jim  T.'s  ranch  and  he  got  me  to  drive  a 
bronco  team  to  Rocky  Point  on  the  Missouri  river 
twenty-five  miles.  This  team  of  four-year-old  browns 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  333 

had  only  been  hitched  up  in  harness  a  couple  of  times. 
The  broncos  were  hitched  to  an  old  buckboard  and  a 
bottle  of  water  put  under  the  seat,  as  the  weather  was 
hot  and  no  water  en  route. 

Before  starting  at  7:30  A.  M.  Jim  T.  cautioned  me  to 
be  careful  as  this  team  had  run  away  and  smashed  up 
a  vehicle  the  past  fall,  since  which  time  they  had  been 
running  wild  on  the  range. 

The  twenty-five  mile  drive  to  Rocky  Point  was  over 
a  broken,  rocky  country,  with  a  very  dim  wagon  road 
to  follow,  and  there  was  not  a  habitation  on  the  road. 

Jim  T.  opened  the  gate  and  I  started  with  the  browns 
tugging  at  their  bits.  For  the  first  few  miles  the  horses 
made  several  efforts  to  run,  though  I  managed  to  get 
them  checked  up,  but  when  about  five  miles  out,  business 
started.  As  we  flew  over  the  rocky  road  as  fast  as  the 
horses  could  run,  I  remember  seeing  something  black, 
which  must  have  been  one  of  the  tug-straps,  hitting  the 
broncos  on  the  hind  legs.  I  also  remember  seeing  a  deep 
gully  ahead,  and  to  avoid  it,  I  threw  my  weight  onto  one 
line  to  turn  the  team  around  the  head  of  the  short  gully. 
I  cannot  account  for  my  not  jumping  and  letting  the  out 
fit  go  to  the  d — 1,  for  I've  been  in  runaways  before,  and 
I  generally  sprout  imaginary  wings  and  fly  out  of  the 
rig.  I  am  all  right  on  a  horse's  back,  but  a  rank  coward 
in  a  vehicle. 

When  I  woke  up  the  sun  was  about  two  hours  high, 
it  being  about  5  p.  M.  I  was  lying  flat  on  my  back  with 
the  hot  June  sun  shining  in  my  face.  I  couldn't  move 
or  open  my  eyes,  and  I  wondered  what  was  wrong. 
Finally,  by  making  a  strong  effort,  I  got  my  right  hand 


334  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

up  to  my  eyes, — the  left  arm  couldn't  be  raised.  I  dis 
covered  that  my  face  and  eyes  were  covered  with  a 
baked  coating  of  some  kind.  This  was  scraped  from 
my  eyes  when  they  opened.  Still,  I  couldn't  think  what 
was  wrong.  Soon  I  became  deathly  sick  at  my  stomach 
and  started  to  vomiting.  I  managed  to  turn  over  on 
my  left  side  so  as  to  vomit  on  the  ground.  Then  I  dis 
covered  that  I  was  throwing  up  blood.  Raising  up 
my  head  I  saw  the  hind  wheels  and  the  bed  of  the  buck- 
board  upside  down,  and  only  a  few  yards  from  me  lay  my 
Colts  45  pistol  and  the  bottle  of  water  which  was  put 
in  the  buckboard  on  starting.  Then  it  all  came  fresh 
to  my  mind  of  the  runaway,  but  I  didn't  remember  of 
the  vehicle  turning  over.  The  last  that  I  could  recall 
was  turning  the  team  around  the  head  of  the  gully. 

As  I  was  dying  for  a  drink  of  water  after  lying  in 
the  hot  sun  for  eight  or  nine  hours,  every  nerve  in  my 
body  was  strained  to  crawl  to  the  bottle  of  water. 

A  little  of  the  water  was  used  to  wash  the  blood  out 
of  my  eyes.  In  vomiting,  while  on  my  back  with  my 
head  slightly  down  hill,  the  blood  had  run  over  my  face 
and  eyes  and  when  dried,  had  formed  a  hard  crust. 

The  water  and  the  crawling  had  revived  me  so  that 
I  could  sit  up.  On  feeling  the  top  of  my  head  I  found 
that  my  high  stubborn  bump  had  overflowed  and  filled 
up  the  hole  where  the  religious  bump  ought  to  have 
been,  according  to  phrenology  rules.  In  fact,  the  top 
of  my  head  was  badly  swollen,  which  showed  that  I  had 
landed  on  the  ground  wrong  end  up.  My  back  pained 
the  worst,  and  it  was  like  pulling  a  tooth  to  try  to  get 
onto  my  feet.  Therefore  I  started  out  to  crawl  back 
to  the  Jim  T.  ranch  about  five  miles.  After  crawling 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  335 

a  few  hundred  yards  I  managed  to  gain  my  feet.  Sev 
eral  times  en  route  I  was  on  the  eve  of  giving  up  and 
lying  down  to  rest,  but  the  fear  that  I  wouldn't  be  able 
to  get  on  my  feet  again,  kept  me  pushing  ahead. 

When  within  a  mile  of  the  ranch,  after  the  sun  had 
set,  I  saw  a  man  afoot  running  towards  me.  I  was  reel 
ing  from  one  side  to  the  other  like  a  drunken  bum,  and 
this  had  brought  Jim  T.  to  my  rescue.  He  saved  me 
from  a  fall  by  grabbing  me  in  his  strong  arms  just  as 
I  was  falling.  I  had  given  up  and  couldn't  have  walked 
another  step.  I  was  carried  to  the  house  and  put  to 
bed.  Jim  T.  kept  a  good  supply  of  horse  liniment  in  the 
house  and  he  used  this  on  me  with  a  lavish  hand  as 
though  it  was  water.  There  was  no  doctor  nearer  than 
the  railroad  fifty  miles,  so  I  wouldn't  consent  to  T.  going 
after  one. 

Two  days  later  the  bronco  team  were  found,  still  drag 
ging  the  front  wheels  of  the  buckboard. 

While  recovering,  I  had  a  good  chance  to  get  informa 
tion  about  the  "Wild  Bunch,"  from  Jim  T.,  but  he  would 
never  give  a  hint  as  to  where  "Kid"  Curry  was,  though 
I  found  out  enough  to  convince  me  that  they  kept  up 
a  correspondence  through  the  post  office  in  the  prosperous 
town  of  Chinook,  on  the  railroad,  not  far  from  Harlin, 
but  under  what  names,  I  couldn't  tell.  He  informed 
me  that  his  mail  addressed  to  Landusky  was  watched 
when  it  left  the  railroad  station  of  Harlin. 

In  talking,  Jim  T.  showed  a  very  bitter  spirit  against 
the  Dickensons  for  killing  his  friend  Loney  Logan,  and 
for  sending  Bob  Lee,  alias  "Bob  Curry"  to  the  pen. 

Our  agency  had  lately  captured  and  convicted  Bob  Lee 
for  his  connection  in  the  Silcox,  Wyo.  U.  P.  train  hold- 


336  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

up.  He  was  caught  in  Cripple  Creek,  Colo.,  and  con> 
victed  and  sentenced  to  the  pen  for  ten  years,  in  Chey 
enne,  Wyo. 

Jim  T.  assured  me  that  Loney's  brother  "Kid  Curry" 
would  soon  get  even  with  the  U.  P.  railroad  company 
and  the  Dickensons  by  robbing  another  U.  P.  train ;  that 
the  "Kid"  was  then  in  the  south  making  preparation  for 
a  deal  of  that  kind. 

It  was  three  weeks  before  I  had  fully  recovered  from 
the  runaway,  and  even  to  this  day  I  can  feel  the  effects 
of  the  fall  in  my  head  and  arm. 

I  had  found  out  many  secrets  of  past  crimes  in  the 
west. 

We  knew  that  Flat  Nose  George  Curry  (who  was  not 
related  to  "Kid"  and  Loney  "Curry")  was  one  of  the 
robbers  of  the  Silcox,  Wyo.,  train  hold-up,  and  deputy 
U.  S.  Marshal  Joe  LaFors  of  Cheyenne,  had  written  the 
officials  of  the  U.  P.  railroad  that  he  had  learned  through 
a  reliable  source  that  Flat  Nose  George  Curry  was  with 
a  tough  character  named  Henry  Smith,  somewhere  in 
the  northwestern  part  of  the  state  of  Chihuahua  in  Old 
Mexico.  Therefore  I  received  orders  by  mail  to  meet 
LaFors  in  Denver  and  go  with  him  to  Old  Mexico  in 
search  of  Flat  Nose  George  Curry. 

We  had  decided  that  "Kid"  Curry,  Jim  T.'s  partner, 
would  steer  clear  of  the  Little  Rockies  where  every  one 
knew  him,  but  in  this  we  were  mistaken,  for  not  long 
after  I  left  he  slipped  back  and  killed  Ranchman  Winters 
who  had  killed  his  brother  Johnny. 

Winters  was  a  prosperous  stock  raiser  and  he  told 
me  that  he  expected  to  be  waylaid  and  killed  by  "Kid" 
Curry, 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  337 

In  the  latter  part  of  August  I  slipped  out  of  the  coun 
try  on  my  red  roan  horse  for  which  I  had  traded  the 
bucking  mare.  No  one  knew  I  was  going  but  my  sup 
posed  sweetheart  Elfie  Curry.  I  told  her  that  my  partner 
was  to  be  executed  for  a  crime  we  had  both  committed 
in  Old  Merico,  and  that  I  feared  he  would  confess  and 
give  me  away;  that  if  he  did  she  would  never  see  me 
again  as  I  intended  to  cut  my  suspenders  and  go  straight 
up,  where  my  friends  would  never  hear  of  me.  Other 
wise  I  would  return.  She  was  given  a  certain  address 
in  New  Mexico  from  whence  letters  would  be  forwarded 
to  me. 

Nearly  a  year  afterwards  a  letter  from  her  reached 
me  through  that  address.  In  her  letter  she  wrote  that 
poor  little  Loney,  her  four-year-old  boy,  was  heart 
broken  over  my  long  absence,  and  kept  asking:  "Mamma 
when  is  Mr.  Carter  coming  home  ?"  The  little  fellow  was 
pretty  and  bright,  and  we  had  become  greatly  attached 
to  each  other.  Of  course,  the  letter  was  not  answered, 
and  I  heard  no  more  of  them. 

In  Harlin  my  horse  and  saddle  were  sold  and  I  boarded 
a  train  for  Denver. 

On  reaching  home  Joe  LaFors  met  me  and  we  went 
to  El  Paso,  Texas,  together.  In  El  Paso  LaFors  located 
until  I  could  run  down  Henry  Smith  and  his  chum  who 
was  supposed  to  be  Flat  Nose  George  Curry. 

It  had  been  agreed  by  Mr.  Morris  Butt,  the  president 
of  the  West  Pacific  Railway  Company,  that  LaFors 
could  stay  in  El  Paso  until  I  ran  the  men  down.  Then  I 
was  to  notify  LaFors  and  he  would  come  to  me  to 
identify  Flat  Nose  George  Curry,  whom  he  had  seen. 


338  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

In  El  Paso  I  boarded  a  train  for  Casas  Grandes,  Mex 
ico,  at  the  foot  of  the  Sierra  Madre  mountains.  There  I 
secured  a  horse  and  saddle  and  the  strenuous  part  of  my 
work  began. 

About  100  miles  northwest  of  Casas  Grandes,  in  Janos, 
a  large  Mexican  town,  I  got  on  the  trail  of  my  men.  But 
in  the  wind-up  two  weeks  later,  I  concluded  that  Henry 
Smith's  chum  was  not  Flat  Nose  George  Curry. 

In  the  Mormon  Colony  of  Bias  I  wired  to  Joe  LaFors, 
in  El  Paso,  Texas,  that  we  were  on  the  wrong  trail — 
hence  he  could  return  home  to  Cheyenne,  Wyoming. 

Soon  after  this  Flat  Nose  George  Curry  was  shot  and 
killed  in  Utah,  while  trying  to  resist  his  capture.  This 
confirmed  my  decision  that  Smith's  chum  was  not  the 
man  wanted. 

While  resting  a  few  days  in  the  Mormon  colony  of 
Dias,  Mexico,  I  saw  some  queer  sparking.  The  pretty 
eighteen-year-old  hired  girl  at  the  place  I  was  stopping 
made  love  to  the  sixty-year-old  proprietor,  and  married 
him.  This  made  his  fourth  wife,  all  living  within  a 
stone's  throw  of  each  other. 

On  this  trip  into  Old  Mexico  I  recognized  several 
former  cowboy  chums,  but  I  didn't  make  myself  known 
Among  them  was  one  who  was  outlawed  from  Texas. 
He  was  going  under  an  assumed  name  and  was  living 
with  a  native  woman.  They  had  a  house  full  of  little 
half-breeds  of  all  sizes,  from  the  oradle  up  into  the  teens. 
So,  why  disturb  him  when  he  was  faithfully  assisting 
Mother  Nature  to  improve  the  human  race. 

From  Dias  I  rode  on  a  stage  coach  to  a  station  on  the 
Sierra  Madre  railway,  and  arrived  back  in  Denver  after 
an  absence  of  over  a  month. 


CHAPTER  XV 

A  i,ooo-MiLE  HORSEBACK  RIDE  FROM  GRAND  JUNCTION, 
COLO.,  TO  ALMA,  NEW  MEXICO — IN  WITH  "Kn>" 
CURRY'S  "WILD  BUNCH"  CROWD,  IN  COLORADO, 
UTAH,  ARIZONA,  NEW  MEXICO  AND  WYOMING. 

Arriving  in  Denver,  Colorado,  I  found  out  the  par 
ticulars  of  a  late  train  hold-up  on  the  U.  P.  railroad  at 
Tipton,  Wyoming. 

Our  Asst.  Supt,  Mr.  Goddil,  had  been  on  the  ground 
investigating  this  late  robbery  and  had  decided  that  "Kid" 
Curry,  Bill  Cruzan  and  a  man  who  might  be  Long- 
bough,  did  the  job. 

Jim  T.  of  Landusky,  Montana,  had  told  me  that  "Kid" 
Curry  was  planning  to  rob  the  U.  P.  Ry.  again  to  get 
revenge  for  the  Dickensons  killing1  his  brother,  Loney, 
hence  I  concluded  that  Jim  T.  knew  what  he  was  talking 
about. 

Our  agency  had  just  received  a  "tip"  through  an  ex- 
convict  in  Grand  Junction,  Colo.,  that  he  talked  with 
"Kid"  Curry  and  a  tall  companion  at  their  camp  on  a 
Mesa  twenty  miles  south  of  Grand  Junction,  and  that 
they  told  him  they  were  going  south  where  the  "climate 
would  fit  their  clothes,"  and  that  they  had  just  broken 
camp  and  started  south  on  horseback.  Therefore,  I 
was  hustled  right  out  to  get  on  the  trail  of  these  two  men. 

I  was  instructed  to  pick  up  their  trail  if  possible,  and 
stay  with  it  wherever  it  might  lead,  and  should  the  trail 

839 


340  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

not  be  found,  then  I  was  to  drift  southwest  through  Utah 
and  Arizona  and  into  New  Mexico  to  Alma,  in  western 
Socorro  county,  where  some  of  the  stolen  unsigned  U.  S. 
bills  from  the  Silcox,  Wyo.,  robbery  had  been  passed. 

A  300  mile  ride  over  the  Continental  Divide  on  the 
D.  &  R.  G.  Ry.,  brought  me  to  the  little  city  of  Grand 
Junction  where  my  friend  "Doc"  Shores  and  his  lovely 
wife — she  who  fed  my  face  so  well  while  I  was  a  pris 
oner  in  the  Gunnison  jail,  years  before — have  a  beautiful 
home. 

While  purchasing  horses  and  getting  an  outfit  ready 
for  the  trail,  I  made  my  headquarters  at  the  Shores  resi 
dence,  but  on  the  sly,  so  no  one  would  see  me  coming 
and  going,  as  every  man,  woman  and  child  in  that  town 
knows  Shores  as  an  officer. 

During  my  stay  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  Charlie 
Wallis,  the  sheriff  of  this,  Mesa  county.  He  was  an  ex- 
cowboy  from  Texas,  and  New  Mexico,  and  an  old  friend 
of  Tom  Hall's,  now  Tom  Nichols,  of  Price,  Utah ;  hence 
we  had  some  pleasant  chats  of  old-time  cowboy  days. 

I  started  south  with  a  blue-roan  saddle  horse  and  a 
red-roan  pack  horse,  and  they  were  both  good  ones  for 
such  a  trip,  more  especially  the  saddle  animal  which 
could  make  a  meal  on  greasewood  or  any  kind  of  rubbish 
when  it  came  to  a  show-down  during  deep  snows  when 
the  feed  played  out. 

Before  reaching  the  Paradox  Valley,  the  home  of  the 
notorious  Young  boys  who  are  known  far  and  wide  as 
"bad"  men,  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  Mr.  Elliott 
and  his  brother-in-law  W.  B.  Moss,  and  found  out  for 
sure  that  my  men  had  passed  their  ranch  only  a  week 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  341 

ahead  of  me.  I  showed  Mr.  Elliott  the  photo  of  "Kid" 
Curry  and  he  was  positive  that  the  small  dark  man  was 
the  same  as  the  photo.  Before  making  a  confidant  of 
young  Elliott,  I  satisfied  myself  that  he  was  all  right 
and  could  be  trusted.  Of  course  I  had  to  trust  to  my 
judgment  in  human  nature. 

From  Elliott's  ranch  the  two  train  hold-ups  were 
trailed  into  the  Paradox  Valley  and  right  up  to  Ed 
Young's  ranch,  and  from  Ed  Young's  father-in-law,  who 
had  no  idea  that  I  was  a  detective,  I  found  out  that  the 
two  robbers  had  gone  south  with  Lafe  Young,  who  was 
an  outlaw  and  dodging  the  officers.  He  had  last  seen 
them  in  the  La  Salle  mountains  where  they  had  a  bunch 
of  range  horses  rounded  up  with  a  view  of  stealing  a 
fresh  mount. 

I  remained  in  the  Paradox  Valley  about  a  week  and 
became  quite  "chummy"  with  Bill  Young  and  met  his 
mother  and  pretty  black-eyed  young  sister. 

There  was  a  store  in  the  valley,  and  from  the  proprie 
tor  Thomas  Swain,  I  gained  much  valuable  information. 
He  was  an  honest  old  Englishman  and  I  made  a  con 
fidant  of  him. 

I  had  got  on  the  wrong  trail  by  following  two  men 
into  the  La  Salle  mountains,  and  through  Thomas  Swain 
I  found  out  that  one  of  them  was  my  friend  "Cunny" 
of  New  Mexico.  They  were  on  a  prospecting  trip  to 
Utah  and  Nevada.  Seeing  "Cunny's"  handwriting  where 
he  wrote  to  have  his  mail  forwarded,  convinced  me  that 
I  was  on  the  wrong  trail,  but  I  soon  got  on  the  right  trail 
and  headed  south  through  a  wild  unsettled  country,  for 
the  Blue  Mountains  of  southern  Utah. 


342  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

In  the  Blue  mountains  I  got  in  with  a  tough  gang,  one 
of  whom  was  Bill  G.  the  manager  of  the  Carlisle  Cattle 
Ranch.  He  was  an  outlaw  from  Oklahoma  and  New 
Mexico,  and  gave  me  the  secrets  of  his  past  life.  From 
him  I  found  out  that  my  men  "Kid"  Curry  and  his  tall 
chum,  who  was  a  stranger  in  that  country,  had  left  the 
hidden  haystack  the  morning  previous  to  my  arrival, 
Lafe  Young  being  with  them.  The  two  train  robbers  he 
said  were  broke,  as  they  had  failed  to  get  any  money 
from  their  last  train  hold-up  at  Tipton,  Wyoming,  hence 
he  gave  them  a  supply  of  grub.  They  told  G.  that  they 
were  going  where  the  climate  would  fit  their  clothes. 
He  figured  that  meant  Arizona  or  New  Mexico,  as  their 
clothes  were  light  for  cold  weather. 

Every  fall  Bill  G.  put  up  a  stack  of  hay  for  his  outlaw 
friends  so  that  they  wouldn't  have  to  feed  their  horses 
at  his  ranch.  This  haystack  was  hidden  in  a  heavy  grove 
of  pifion  and  cedar  timber  a  couple  of  miles  from  the 
ranch.  My  men  camped  one  night  at  this  hidden  hay 
stack  and  then  pulled  out  for  Indian  Creek  where  Bill  G. 
visited  their  camp  next  day  to  recover  a  Winchester 
rifle  which  they  had  stolen  by  mistake  from  one  of  his 
cowboys.  He  had  just  returned  when  I  arrived. 

I  drifted  over  to  Indian  Creek,  a  place  noted  for  tough 
characters,  and  got  in  "solid"  with  an  outlaw  named 
"Peg-leg."  His  chum  "Kid"  Jackson  was  afraid  of  me 
for  fear  I  might  be  a  detective. 

"Peg-leg"  had  been  to  the  camp  of  my  two  men,  and 
Lafe  Young  had  told  him  that  they  were  Union  Pacific 
train-robbers  making  their  "get-away,"  but  he  didn't 
learn  their  names.  His  description  of  the  small  dark 
man  tallied  with  that  of  "Kid"  Curry  to  a  dot. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  343 

"Peg-leg"  informe  me  that  just  previous  to  my  arrival 
on  Indian  Creek,  these  men  broke  camp.  Lafe  Young 
returned  north  while  the  two  train-robbers  drifted  south 
down  the  Colorado  'river. 

One  day  "Peg-leg"  and  I  rode  into  Monticello,  the 
Mormon  county  seat  of  San  Juan  County,  Utah,  a  dis 
tance  of  twenty  miles.  It  was  a  small  town  of  200  people, 
presided  over  by  Bishop  Jones  of  the  Mormon  church. 

En  route  to  Monticello  "Peg-leg"  and  I  rested  for  an 
hour  on  top  of  a  high  mountain  ridge  from  whence  we 
could  view  the  whole  country  around  for  a  hundred 
miles  or  more.  It  was  a  clear  sunshiny  day.  Looking 
to  the  westward  beyond  the  Indian  Creek  settlement,  the 
great  Colorado  river  could  be  seen  with  its  jagged  cliffs 
and  canyons,  which  made  a  beautiful  sight.  And  beyond 
the  Colorado  river  "Peg-leg"  pointed  out  the  "Robbers' 
Roost,"  which  "Butch"  Casiday  and  the  "Wild  Bunch" 
used  as  headquarters  for  several  years  until  Joe  Bush  and 
a  posse  of  Salt  Lake  City  officers  made  a  raid  on  the 
"Roost"  and  killed  some  of  the  gang. 

Beyond  the  "Robbers'  Roost"  was  the  Henry  mount- 
tains,  a  mere  bluish  blotch  on  the  lovely  blue  sky.  The 
distance  to  them  from  where  we  lay,  as  the  bird  flies, 
was  about  seventy-five  miles,  but  in  order  to  reach  them 
one  would  have  to  travel  about  200  miles,  as  the  country 
between  is  almost  impassable  and  devoid  of  inhabitants. 

"Peg-leg"  told  of  secret  trails  to  the  Colorado  river, 
and  of  the  "Wild  Bunch"  having  a  boat  hidden  in  the 
rushes  at  a  certain  point  so  they  could  cross  the  river  and 
reach  the  Henry  mountains  quickly.  He  said  that  "Kid" 
Jackson  used  this  boat  a  week  previous. 


344  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Southwest  from  where  we'  were  there  is  not  a  human 
habitation  for  about  300  miles  down  in  Arizona,  and  it 
is  a  very  rough  country  with  a  scarcity  of  water,  there 
fore  it  can  be  realized  what  a  haven  of  rest  it  must  be 
for  the  "Wild  Bunch"  and  their  kind. 

"Peg-leg"  and  I  aimed  to  reach  Monticello  after  dark, 
so  that  he  wouldn't  be  seen  until  he  found  out  if  the 
coast  was  clear;  in  other  words,  if  there  were  any  out 
side  officers  in  the  county  looking  for  criminals.  After 
we  had  put  up  our  horses  and  had  a  lunch  in  a  cabin 
on  the  outskirts  of  town,  "Peg-leg"  borrowed  my  pistol 
so  that  he  would  have  two,  leaving  his  Winchester  rifle 
with  me,  and  struck  out  in  the  dark  to  find  the  sheriff 
of  the  county.  He  had  told  me  that  the  sheriff  stood  in 
with  the  outlaws  and  kept  them  posted  as  to  when  there 
was  danger  in  the  air,  but  I  didn't  know  whether  to 
believe  it  or  not.  To  satisfy  myself  I  followed  "Peg-leg" 
in  the  dark,  keeping  my  rifle  hidden  under  my  coat. 

"Peg-leg"  found  the  sheriff  at  a  dance  and  they  met 
under  some  trees  in  a  dark  place  and  had  a  long  pow 
wow.  This  seemed  strange  considering  that  the  sheriff 
had  warrants  in  his  pocket  for  "Peg-leg"  and  at  least 
half  a  dozen  for  "Peg-leg's"  chum,  "Kid"  Jackson. 

On  returning  to  the  cabin  "Peg-leg"  reported  to  me 
that  the  coast  was  clear  and  that  no  outside  officers  or 
detectives  were  in  the  county.  We  then  put  in  a  few 
hours  with  "Peg-leg's"  sweetheart  and  her  mother. 

"Peg-leg"  told  how  the  past  winter  two  officers  left 
the  railroad  with  a  team  and  buggy  to  search  for  "Kid" 
Jackson  in  the  Indian  Creek  country,  there  being  big 
rewards  out  for  his  arrest;  that  these  officers  wrote  to 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  345 

the  sheriff  asking  that  he  meet  them.  The  sheriff  then 
sent  for  "Kid"  Jackson  and  told  him  to  "hit  the  high 
places"  until  these  officers  left.  But  instead  of  hiding 
out,  "Kid"  Jackson  and  "Peg-leg"  went  to  these  officers' 
camp  one  night,  running  off  their  horses  and  shooting 
into  their  tent,  the  result  being  the  two  sleuths  had  to 
"hoof  it"  back  to  Moab  where  they  secured  transporta 
tion  to  the  railroad. 

I  found  out  that  Bill  G.  had  been  sheriff  of  this  county 
two  terms,  and  when  he  couldn't  hold  it  any  longer  he 
selected  a  man  who  was  a  member  of  the  Mormon 
church  whom  he  could  trust  to  protect  his  friends  among 
the  outlaw  class.  I  got  this  from  "Peg-leg"  and  Bill  G. 
himself.  No  wonder  the  Blue  Mountains  have  been  an 
outlaw's  paradise  for  many  years. 

During  my  three  weeks'  stay  in  the  Blue  mountains  I 
gained  much  information  about  past  crimes  and  the 
names  of  noted  outlaws.  I  found  out  that  a  "bad"  out 
law  of  Texas  had  married  a  Mormon  girl  on  Indian 
Creek,  under  an  assumed  name,  but  after  they  had  been 
married  a  year  or  two  he  confessed  the  truth  to  his 
wife.  She  then  fixed  it  with  the  church  so  that  they 
could  be  married  in  his  own  name  in  a  way  that  the 
secret  wouldn't  leak  out.  This  was  done  to  place  their 
children  on  the  shady  side  of  Heaven;  otherwise  they 
would  be  on  the  sunny  side  of  Hades.  Bishop  Jones  of 
Monticello  performed  the  church  ceremony  in  secret,  so 
that  the  man's  true  name  wouldn't  leak  out.  I  got  this 
from  Bishop  Jones'  own  lips  after  I  had  made  a  con 
fidant  of  him.  I  also  met  this  ex-outlaw  from  Texas 
and  found  him  to  be  a  nice  fellow,  apparently. 


346  rA  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

After  making  a  confidant  of  Bishop  Jones,  a  fine  law- 
abiding  citizen,  he  gave  me  some  valuable  "tips;"  but 
he  was  very  angry  when  I  gave  him  the  secrets  of  how 
his  Mormon  sheriff  was  standing  in  with  the  "Wild 
Bunch."  He  assured  me  that  a  law-abiding  sheriff  would 
be  put  in  at  the  next  election,  and  no  doubt  he  kept  his 
word,  for  I  heard  that  Bill  G.  was  sent  to  the  Utah 
penitentiary  soon  after  election. 

After  leaving  the  Blue  mountains  I  drifted  south  to 
BlufT  City  on  the  San  Juan  river,  thence  west  120  miles 
over  that  uninhabited,  rocky,  desert  country,  over  which 
Sayles  and  I  passed,  to  Dandy  Crossing  on  the  Colorado 
river. 

On  reaching  the  foot  of  Elk  mountain  a  deep  snow 
covered  up  all  trails  and  the  clouds  and  falling  snow 
prevented  my  seeing  familiar  landmarks  to  guide  my 
way.  The  result  was  that  I  was  lost  for  a  couple  of  days 
and  nights ;  and  one  dark  night  I  saw  the  campfire  of 
Jim  Scorrup  down  in  a  deep  canyon.  I  was  then  twenty 
miles  off  my  road  to  the  southward.  Jim  Scorrup  of 
Bluff  City  was  camped  all  alone  under  a  ledge  of  rock, 
and  had  a  whopping  big  fire  burning.  The  sight  of  this 
fire  raised  a  cowboy  yell  in  my  throat  that  startled  Scor 
rup  and  his  shepherd  dog.  I  was  wet,  tired,  and  hungry. 

Scorrup  was  out  hunting  lost  stock.  Next  day 
the  sun  came  out  and  Scorrup  put  me  on  the  right  trail 
to  Dandy  Crossing.  He  went  with  me  as  far  as  White's 
Canyon  and  we  camped  together  that  night.  We  bade 
each  other  goodby  next  morning  and  I  haven't  seen  him 
since,  but  there  will  always  remain  a  warm  spot  in  my 
heart  for  Jim  Scorrup,  as  he  knows  how  to  put  new 
life  into  a  lost  sinner. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  347 

On  reaching  Dandy  Crossing  about  night,  during  a 
severe  rain  storm,  Col.  Hite,  formerly  a  wealthy  poli 
tician  of  Springfield,  Illinois,  helped  to  swim  my  two 
horses  across  the  Colorado  river.  In  doing  so  the 
Colonel  got  his  250  pounds  of  flesh  wet  to  the  skin.  We 
had  trouble  making  the  horses  "take  the  water,"  and 
Hite  let  me  do  all  the  swearing,  as  he  said  he  had  been 
brought  up  a  Christian  and  felt  better  to  do  his  swearing 
by  proxy. 

From  Dandy  Crossing  I  rode  north  through  the  Henry 
mountains  to  Hanksville,  two  hard  days'  ride.  As 
Sayers  and  I  had  been  in  Hanksville,  I  felt  at  home  here 
with  Charlie  Gibbons  and  his  family,  with  whom  I  put  up. 
I  made  a  confidant  of  Mr.  Gibbons  and  told  him  my  busi 
ness.  He  gave  me  some  new  pointers  about  "Butch" 
Casiday  and  the  "Wild  Bunch."  He  had  first  become 
acquainted  with  Casiday  after  he  helped  to  rob  the  Mont- 
pelier,  Idaho,  bank  out  of  a  large  pile  of  gold.  This 
gold  was  turned  over  to  Gibbons  for  safe  keeping,  he 
not  knowing  of  the  robbery.  Later  it  was  taken  to  the 
"Robbers'  Roost,"  fifty  miles  east  of  Hanksville,  where 
the  "Wild  Bunch"  used  twenty  dollar  gold  pieces  for 
poker  chips. 

Bill  G.  had  told  me  of  going  into  the  "Robbers'  Roost" 
while  sheriff  of  San  Juan  County,  Utah,  and  of  how  his 
friend  "Butch"  Casiday  and  his  gang  kept  him  there  two 
days  playing  poker  for  twenty  dollar  gold  pieces,  they 
staking  him  out  of  their  pile  of  gold. 

I  had  received  orders  from  Asst.  Supt.  "Rank"  Curran, 
through  the  mail,  to  drift  over  to  the  Sevier  Valley, 
where  "Butch"  Casiday  was  born  and  raised,  and  find 


348  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

out  all  I  could  about  that  outlaw,  for  future  use;  and 
from  there  drift  south  through  Arizona  and  New  Mex 
ico  to  Alma,  in  the  latter  territory,  Alma  being  the 
southern  rendezvous  for  the  "Wild  Bunch,"  while  the 
Hole-in-the-Wall,  in  Wyoming,  was  their  northern  hang 
out.  This  of  course  meant  a  horseback  ride  of  over  1000 
miles  through  the  most  God-forsaken  desert  country  in 
the  United  States. 

On  leaving  Hanksville  one  morning  a  traveling  photog 
rapher  took  a  snapshot  of  me  and  my  horses.  This 
photograph  I  present  herein  to  show  what  a  cowboy 
detective  looks  like  when  on  the  warpath,  with  bedding, 
grub,  and  kitchen  fixings  tied  to  his  saddle-pony's  tail. 

A  day's  ride  due  west  up  the  Dirty  Devil  river  brought 
me  to  the  Mormon  settlement  of  Cainsville.  Here  I  put 
up  for  the  night.  On  leaving  the  Dirty  Devil  next  morn 
ing  to  cross  an  unsettled  rough  desert  called  San  Rafael 
Swell,  I  bade  goodby  to  civilization  for  a  few  days. 

After  the  first  night  out  I  lost  the  dim  trail  and  con 
cluded  to  head  due  west  over  a  high  snowy  range  of 
mountains  for  the  town  of  Emery,  at  the  head  of  Castle 
Valley.  Sayles  and  I  had  stopped  there,  hence  I  knew 
by  the  lay  of  the  mountains  where  the  little  Mormon 
town  was  located  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  mountains. 
This  proved  to  be  a  bad  mistake,  for  after  camping  out 
in  the  snow  two  nights  I  had  to  turn  back  as  the  snow 
became  too  deep  for  travel,  and  I  was  not  yet  to  the  top 
of  the  range. 

That  night  I  had  no  feed  for  the  horses,  and  through 
kindness  of  heart  I  hobbled  them  out,  that  is,  tied  their 
front  feet  together  so  they  could  hobble  around  among 


THE  AUTHOR 


ROBBERS. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  349 

the  rocks  on  a  side  hill  and  pick  up  a  little  dry  grass. 
This  was  mistake  No.  2,  for  next  morning  I  had  to 
shoulder  my  wrath  and  follow  their  tracks  fifteen  miles 
to  the  head  of  Starvation  Creek,  where  there  was  a 
small  spring.  This  was  back  in  the  direction  of  Dirty 
Devil  river.  In  traveling  these  fifteen  miles  afoot  I  felt 
like  swearing,  but  I  realized  the  uselessness  of  uttering 
cuss  words  where  they  would  have  been  wasted  on  the 
desert  air.  I  contented  myself  by  making  a  vow  that 
hereafter  one  of  the  horses  would  be  tied  up  to  a  tree, 
feed  or  no  feed,  as  I  would  rather  count  their  ribs  than 
their  tracks. 

The  next  morning  I  found  the  dim  trail  over  which 
Sayles  and  I  had  traveled.  This  was  followed  until 
dark,  where  camp  was  pitched  without  either  wood  or 
horse  feed.  And  to  make  matters  worse  it  was  raining 
hard. 

The  following  morning  I  pushed  ahead  to  reach  a 
ranch  where  Sayles  and  I  had  stopped  nearly  two  years 
previous.  At  that  time  a  Mormon  lady  and  her  pretty 
young  daughter  lived  there  alone,  as  their  lord  and  mas 
ter  was  absent  trying  to  make  a  living,  the  soil  on  their 
homestead  being  too  poor  to  grow  sufficient  food.  But 
imagine  my  surprise  on  finding  the  place  vacated  and  not 
a  blade  of  grass  for  my  tired  and  hungry  horses  in  sight. 
It  was  about  night  and  raining  hard,  which  made  the 
road  slippery  and  hard  on  the  horses. 

About  midnight  we  came  to  a  ranch  on  the  side  of  the 
road,  which  was  considered  as  being  only  four  miles  from 
Emery.  Dismounting,  I  went  to  the  house  and  knocked 
on  the  door,  and  a  dog  inside  made  a  terrible  racket,  as 


350  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

though  he  wanted  to  eat  me  up.  Repeated  knocks  and 
loud  calls  failed  to  bring  any  one  to  the  door.  I  thought 
seriously  of  breaking  down  the  door,  and  if  it  had  to  be 
done,  killing  the  dog  and  cooking  a  supper,  providing 
there  was  anything  to  eat  in  the  house.  But  on  second 
thought  I  concluded  it  dangerous,  as  there  might  be 
someone  inside  with  a  gun.  Thus  was  my  well  developed 
cautious  bump  getting  in  its  work. 

Finally  I  started  in  the  cold  rain,  and  the  poor  horses 
didn't  want  to  go.  A  half-hour's  ride  brought  me  to  a 
small  raging  creek  which  my  horses  wouldn't  go  into, 
despite  the  severe  spurring  received  by  my  mount.  Then 
we  turned  back  with  the  intention  of  breaking  down  the 
ranchman's  door,  but  to  my  great  delight,  on  coming  in 
sight,  a  light  was  shining  in  the  window  and  before 
knocking  I  heard  voices  inside.  On  knocking  I  was  ad 
mitted,  and  the  frightened  woman  who  was  alone  with 
her  small  children,  explained  that  she  didn't  open  the 
door  the  first  time  because  she  was  afraid,  and  that  after 
I  had  been  gone  quite  awhile,  she  built  a  fire  to  make 
coffee  to  quiet  her  nerves. 

By  the  time  the  horses  were  put  in  the  stable  and  fed, 
the  kind  lady  had  a  hot  meal  on  the  table  and  I  ate  din 
ner,  supper,  and  a  three  o'clock  breakfast  all  at  one  time. 
Then  I  lay  down  by  the  open  fireplace  to  sleep. 

But  why  waste  time  to  chronicle  the  hardships  of  a 
fool  cow-puncher  who  had  started  out  as  a  detective  to 
see  the  world  and  to  study  the  phrenology  bumps  on  the 
heads  of  other  people,  instead  of  living  the  "simple  life" 
on  a  small  patch  of  the  earth's  surface.  So  I  will  hurry 
on  to  Alma,  New  Mexico,  the  outlaws'  Paradise,  near 
the  border  of  Old  Mexico. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  351 

A  ride  of  several  days  over  mountain  trails  landed 
me  in  Circleville,  the  home  of  "Butch"  Casiday  before 
he  turned  out  to  be  the  shrewdest  and  most  daring  out 
law  of  the  present  age,  though  not  of  the  blood-spilling 
kind  like  "Kid"  Curry  and  "Black  Jack." 

A  week  was  spent  in  the  straggling  village  of  Circle 
ville,  and  I  found  out  all  about  "Butch's"  early  life  and 
much  about  his  late  doings.  His  true  name  was  Parker, 
his  nickname  being  "Sallie"  Parker  when  a  boy.  This 
nickname  of  itself  was  enough  to  drive  a  sensitive  boy 
to  the  "bad." 

I  had  hard  work  to  keep  from  falling  in  love  with  Miss 
Parker,  the  pretty  young  sister  of  "Butch"  Casiday. 
She  was  the  deputy  postmistress  in  Circleville,  and  I 
made  her  acquaintance. 

Harti,  cold  rides  brought  me  to  the  town  of  Panguitch, 
thence  due  south  to  the  Mormon  town  of  Kanab,  on  the 
line  of  Arizona.  Here  I  laid  in  a  good  supply  of  grub, 
as  this  was  the  last  settlement  for  hundreds  of  miles. 

A  three  days'  ride  over  the  Buckskin  mountains  and 
down  the  great  Colorado  river,  brought  me  to  Lee's  Ferry 
on  that  stream.  Not  a  habitation  or  a  settler  was  seen 
between  Kanab  and  Lee's  Ferry,  Arizona,  and  I  found 
water  scarce  and  "far  between."  But  it  was  surely  a 
treat  to  see  this  lone  ranch  down  in  the  narrow  valley 
of  the  Colorado.  It  was  indeed  an  oasis  in  the  desert. 
Here  green  alfalfa  was  a  foot  high  and  the  flowers,  and 
the  combs  on  the  chickens  were  in  full  bloom. 

Another  three  days  over  an  uninhabited  desert  coun 
try  brought  me  to  the  Indian  trading  store  at  Willow 
Creek.  From  here  I  turned  due  east  across  the  Navajo 


352 

Indian  Reservation  and  through  the  Moqui  Indian  coun 
try,  my  object  being  to  find  out  if  any  of  the  "Wild 
Bunch"  had  been  seen  lately.  Therefore,  for  the  next 
two  weeks  I  was  among  Indians  all  the  time,  and  I 
learned  some  interesting  lessons,  especially  among  the 
Moquis,  who  live  on  the  very  top  of  round  mountains  in 
the  desert.  At  one  of  the  big  Moqui  villages  I  took  my 
horses  up  the  steep  trail  and  rode  into  the  Chief's  front 
yard.  My  horses  were  fed  and  the  Indians  made  an 
idol  of  me.  They  dug  up  old  rusty  dried  venison  which 
had  been  butted  for  a  coon's  age,  so  as  to  give  me  a 
feast  fit  for  the  gods.  I  remained  all  night  and  was  in 
vited  to  take  me  a  squaw  and  become  one  of  them,  but  I 
told  the  Chief  that  I  wasn't  ready  to  settle  down,  as  I 
wanted  to  settle  up  first. 

On  the  Navajo  and  Moqui  Indian  Reservations  I  vis 
ited  the  Keams  and  the  Hubbell  trading  posts.  Both 
Captain  Keams  and  Mr.  Lorenzo  Hubbell  treated  me 
royally  and  gave  me  valuable  information  about  "Kid" 
Curry  and  his  gang,  when  the  previous  spring,  they  left 
a  trail  of  blood  behind  them  in  making  thei?  "getaway" 
from  southern  New  Mexico.  They  had  killed  two  of 
ficers  near  here,  and  killed  other  men  before  reaching 
Wyoming. 

Finally  I  crossed  the  Atlantic  &  Pacific  railroad  at 
Gallup,  New  Mexico,  thence  south  through  the  Zuni 
Indian  country  to  a*  salt  lake  a  few  miles  east  of  the 
Arizona  line.  Here  I  found  a  settlement  of  Mexicans 
putting  up  salt  for  the  markets  in  far  off  towns.  And 
here  I  saw  a  great  curiosity  in  the  form  of  a  bottomless 
lake  on  the  top  of  a  round  mountain.  To  reach  it  one 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  353 

has  to  climb  to  the  top  of  the  mountain  on  the  outside 
and  down  a  trail  on  the  inside.  I  went  swimming  in  it, 
as  the  water  is  warm  in  winter,  it  being  out  of  reach  of 
the  wind.  It  is  said  that  the  Government  tried  to  find 
the  bottom  of  this  salty  body  of  hidden  water,  but  failed 
after  putting  down  a  line  3000  feet.  The  lake  from 
whence  the  salt  is  gathered  lies  at  the  foot  of  this  round 
mountain. 

From  here  I  went  to  the  line  of  Arizona,  where  a  few 
days  previous  two  of  Pete  Slaughter's  boys  murdered 
William  Beeler,  the  brave  officer  who  had  trailed  "Kid" 
Curry  and  his  gang  to  Baggs,  Wyoming,  the  spring 
previous.  The  two  seventeen-year-old  boys  murdered 
Beeler  in  revenge  for  the  killing  of  Monte  Slaughter  not 
long  before. 

From  here  I  drifted  south  to  the  American  Valley 
ranch,  where  my  friend  W.  J.  C.  Moore,  the  outlaw  cow 
boy  whom  I  saw  in  Juneau,  Alaska,  killed  two  men, 
which  set  him  adrift  with  a  big  reward  on  his  head. 

From  American  Valley  I  rode  south  to  Luna  Valley 
and  made  the  acquaintance  of  many  tough  characters. 
Here  I  made  a  confidant  of  a  ranchman  by  the  name 
of  James  G.  Smith,  and  found  out  that  he  had  known  me 
in  Texas  years  before.  He  gave  me  valuable  informa 
tion  about  the  "Wild  Bunch,"  and  his  good  wife  filled 
me  up  on  civilized  food. 

Finally  I  reached  the  sleepy  little  town  of  Alma,  New 
Mexico,  and  my  thousand-mile  horseback  journey  was 
ended. 

The  town  of  Alma  supported  one  store  and  one  saloon, 
both  being  well  patronized  by  the  wild  and  wooly  pop 
ulation  thinly  scattered  over  the  surrounding  country. 

23 


354  TA  COWWOY  DETECTIVE. 

I  started  in  to  make  myself  "solid"  with  the  tough 
element  of  the  district,  so  as  to  find  out  more  about  the 
"Wild  Bunch"  and  as  to  who  passed  a  lot  of  that  un 
signed  money  stolen  in  the  Silcox,  Wyoming,  train  hold 
up.  This  stolen  money  had  been  passed  in  Alma  a  few 
months  after  the  train  holdup,  and  when  the  matter  leaked 
out  Asst.  Supt.  "Rank"  Curran,  of  our  Denver  office,  was 
sent  there  to  investigate.  There  being  no  deputy  sheriffs 
in  this  western  part  of  Socorro  county,  it  being  about  120 
miles  from  the  county  seat  of  Socorro  on  the  Rio  Grande 
river,  Mr.  Curran  had  no.  local  officers  to  assist  him.  I 
was  told  that  the  sheriff  couldn't  get  a  man  to  accept 
the  deputyship  in  the  western  part  of  this  county,  as  it 
was  .too  tough  and  dangerous,  being  overrun  with  out 
laws  and  desperados. 

Mr.  Curran  had  to  take  someone  into  his  confidence, 
so  he  used  bad  judgment  by  selecting  the  two  leading 
business  men  and  citizens  of  Alma.  One  of  these  was 
the  storekeeper  and  the  other  the  saloon  proprietor,  Jim 
Lowe.  Of  course  Curran  went  into  detail  of  how  he 
was  on  a  hot  trail  of  the  Union  Pacific  train  robbers  who 
had  passed  some  of  the  stolen  money  in  Alma.  This 
was  enough.  That  night  Mr.  Curran  was  driven  out  of 
town  and  would  have  been  killed  had  it  not  been  for 
saloonman  Jim  Lowe. 

Curran  was  not  a  western  man,  he  having  formerly 
been  Superintendent  of  our  Chicago  office  before  being 
taken  down  with  that  dread  disease,  consumption,  and 
coming  to  Denver  for  his  health.  Hence  he  was  glad 
to  get  out  of  Alma  alive,  and  of  course  he  naturally  felt 
grateful  to  Jim  Lowe. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  355 

After  getting  in  with  the  tough  gang,  I  learned  the 
truth  of  how  Jim  Lowe  saved  Murray's  life,  and  how 
next  morning  Lowe  sold  his  saloon  and  "hit  the  trail" 
with  outlaw  "Red"  Weaver,  for  "tall  timber ;"  that  Jim 
Lowe  was  none  other  than  the  notorious  "Butch"  Casi- 
day  of  the  "Kid"  Curry  gang. 

Among  the  men  whose  friendship  I  made  was  Jesse 
Black,  one  of  Jim  Lowe's  warmest  friends,  who  had  fig 
ured  in  the  raid  on  Frank  Murray.  He  was  considered 
a  hard  case,  but  no  one  seemed  to  know  who  he  was  or 
where  he  came  from. 

Part  of  my  time  was  spent  out  in  the  mountains  in  the 
Mogollon  mining  camp  and  at  the  mining  town  of 
Graham,  where  there  was  a  gold  mill;  also  at  the  cattle 
town  of  Frisco,  near  the  Arizona  line. 

In  Frisco  I  got  in  with  a  bronco-buster  and  "bad" 
man,  who  told  me  the  spot  in  the  mountains,  about  forty 
miles  southwest,  where  Jim  Lowe  had  established  a 
"Robbers'  Roost"  or  rendezvous,  and  at  that  very  time 
was  there  with  eight  outlaw  companions,  but  who  these 
companions  were  he  didn't  know,  as  they  were  from  the 
north.  He  was  only  acquainted  with  Jim  Lowe.  He 
pointed  out  the  particular  mountain  in  the  distance  where 
they  were  camped,  and  getting  ready  for  some  kind  of  a 
raid.  This  bronco-buster  had  been  to  their  camp  lately. 

On  learning  of  this,  I  at  once  wrote  to  Asst.  Supt. 
Curran,  telling  him  of  Jim  Lowe's  rendezvous  and  of  my 
plans  to  visit  their  camp  and  try  to  get  in  with  the  gang. 

Soon  I  received  a  reply  by  mail  saying  that  I  was  mis 
taken  about  Jim  Lowe  being  "Butch"  Casiday,  as  he 
("Rank"  Curran)  had  met  Lowe  and  found  him  to  be  a 


356  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

nice  gentleman.  In  the  letter  he  instructed  me  to  sell  my 
horses  and  return  to  Denver  as  he  wanted  me  to  join  a 
tough  gang  in  western  Colorado  and  southern  Wyoming, 
who  stood  in  with  the  "Wild  Bunch." 

So  this  ended  my  work  in  Alma  during  the  late  spring. 
Putting  a  stop  to  my  visiting  Jim  Lowe  and  his  gang 
may  have  been  a  godsend,  as  they  might  have  killed 
me;  but  still,  it  may  have  terminated  in  the  killing  or 
capture  of  the  whole  bunch. 

After  selling  my  horses  in  the  Mogollon  mining  camp 
I  boarded  the  stagecoach  for  Silver  City,  the  county  seat 
of  Grant  county,  New  Mexico,  a  distance  of  about  eighty 
miles  to  the  southward,  this  being  the  nearest  railroad. 

Blake  Graham,  a  warm  friend  of  Jim  Lowe,  was  a 
passenger  on  the  stage  with  me.  We  had  a  good  supply 
of  liquor  along  and  he  told  me  the  whole  secret  of  Jim 
Lowe  being  "Butch"  Casiday.  He  told  of  how  when 
Asst.  Supt.  Murray  was  run  out  of  Alma,  Jim  Lowe  sold 
his  saloon  and  skipped;  that  he  (Blake  Graham)  rode 
several  miles  with  Lowe  and  "Red"  Weaver  when  they 
were  leaving,  and  of  how  Lowe  said  he  didn't  have  the 
heart  to  see  Frank  Murray  killed,  and  for  that  reason 
he  helped  get  him  out  of  town  in  the  night. 

This  outlaw  "Red"  Weaver  was  killed  in  a  pistol  duel 
with  Jim  Hollman  in  the  street  of  Alma  just  before  my 
arrival. 

The  driver  of  the  stagecoach  was  Bill  Kelly,  who 
claimed  to  be  the  original  "L.  S.  Kid"  of  the  Panhandle, 
Texas.  I  had  known  the  "L.  S.  Kid"  as  s.  wild  smooth- 
face  boy,  hence  Kelly  and  I  became  quite  "chummy." 
Young  Graham  and  I  and  the  two  traveling  men  aboard 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  357 

kept  Kelly  loaded  with  liquor  so  that  he  would  make 
good  time,  and  amuse  us  with  his  western  songs.  He 
claimed  to  have  originated  one  of  these  songs  while 
a  cowboy  in  the  Panhandle,  Texas,  and  he  sang  it  half  a 
dozen  times  en  route.  It  had  a  lovely  tune  and  seemed 
to  strike  me  just  right.  It  ran  thus : 

My  lover  is  a  cowboy, 

He's  kind,  he's  brave  and  true; 
He  rides  the  Spanish  pony 

And  throws  the  lasso,  too; 
And  when  he  comes  to  see  me 

And  our  vows  we  have  redeemed, 
He  puts  his  arms  around  me 

And  then  begins  to  sing: 

CHORUS  : 

Oh,  I  am  a  jolly  cowboy, 

From  Texas  now  I  hail, 
Give  me  my  saddle  and  pony 

And   I'm   ready   for  the  trail. 
I  love  the  rolling  prairie 

Where  we  are  free  from  care  and  strife, 
And  behind  a  herd  of  long-horns, 

I  will  journey  all  my  life. 

We  rise  up  in  the  morning 

At  the  early  dawn  of  day, 
We  vault  into  the  saddle 

And  quickly  ride  away. 
We  rope,  brand  and  ear-mark, 

I  tell  you  what,  we're  smart, 
We  get  the  herd  all  ready 

For  Kansas,  then,  we  start. 

Chorus. 

When  lowering  clouds  do  gather 

And  livid  lightnings  flash, 
And  crashing  thunder  rattles 

And  heavy  rain-drops  splash. 


358  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

What  keeps  the  herd  from  roaming 

And  stampeding  far  and  wide? 
'Tis  the  cowboy's  long,  low  whistle 

And  singing  by  their  side. 

Chorus. 

And  when  in  Kansas  City 

The  boss  he  pays  us  up, 
We  loaf  around  a  few  days, 

We  have  a  parting  cup. 
We  bid  farewell  to  city, 

From  noisy  marts  we  come 
Right  back  to  dear  old  Texas 

The  cowboys'  native  home. 

Before  reaching  Silver  City  about  night,  the  liquor  be 
gan  to  work.  Then  Graham  and  I  pulled  our  pistols  and 
emptied  them  through  the  canvas-covered  top  of  the 
stagecoach.  This  set  fire  to  the  canvas  top  and  the  wind 
carried  the  fire  to  my  roll  of  bedding  in  the  rear ;  then  we 
all  became  fire-fighters.  We  drove  into  Silver  City  with 
out  a  buggy-top  and  the  liquor  all  gone. 

As  my  daughter  Viola  lived  in  Silver  City  with  her 
aunt  and  uncle.  Mr  and  Mrs.  Will  F.  Read,  I  laid  over 
the  next  day  to  visit  them.  Viola  had  grown  to  be  a 
pretty  young  lady  and  was  just  finishing  her  education 
in  the  Territorial  Normal  College  in  Silver  City. 

I  also  visited  with  my  old  White  Oaks  (N.  M.)  friend, 
Jim  Brent,  who  was  now  City  Marshal  of  this  town; 
also  with  Sheriff  Goodall  and  ex- Sheriff  J.  K.  Blair,  both 
model  officers. 

I  then  boarded  a  train  for  Denver,  stopping  off  in 
Santa  Fe  one  day  to  visit  my  pets. 

On  arriving  in  Denver,  Asst.  Supt.  Curran  sent  me 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  359 

at  once  to  Grand  Junction  in  the  western  part  of  Colo 
rado,  there  to  purchase  a  horse  and  locate  one  Jim  F. 
who  had  been  run  out  of  Dixon,  Wyoming,  by  the 
vigilantes,  as  he  was  known  to  be  in  with  the  "Wild 
Bunch."  It  was  reported  that  he  had  taken  his  family 
and  settled  somewhere  near  Grand  Junction. 

I  finally  located  Jim  F.  through  my  friend  Sheriff 
Charlie  Wallis.  He  had  bought  a  small  patch  of  land  in 
an  out-of-the-way  place  on  Grand  River  near  Palisade, 
twenty  miles  above  Grand  Junction,  and  lived  there  with 
his  young  w-ife  and  two  pretty  little  girls. 

After  much  planning  and  scheming  I  got  in  "solid" 
with  Jim  F.,  although  he  had  received  a  letter  of  warn 
ing  from  his  friend  Tom  T.,  in  Dixon,  Wyoming,  to  the 
effect  that  the  Union  Pacific  Railroad  Company  had  a 
Dickenson  detective  on  his  trail.  I  brought  him  this  let 
ter  from  Palisade,  as  he  had  given  me  orders  to  get  his 
mail.  On  reading  it  he  swore  the  most  wicked  oaths 
against  all  detectives  and  swore  to  cut  out  the  heart  of 
any  detective  who  undertook  to  win  his  friendship.  He 
let  me  read  the  letter. 

I  had  been  cautioned  to  watch  Jim  F.  as  he  was  a 
wicked  fellow  and  would  kill  a  man  without  mercy.  He 
had  cut  his  own  brother-in-law's  throat  in  a  fit  of  anger, 
and  he  had  once  served  a  term  in  the  South  Dakota 
penitentiary,  while  his  brother  Charlie,  whose  friendship 
I  won  later,  was  an  ex-convict  from  Utah. 

To  show  what  a  temper  Jim  F.  had,  I  will  cite  a  case 
wherein  he  came  very  near  drowning  his  own  child 
while  sitting  at  the  dinner  table.  The  door  was  open 
and  a  swift  irrigation  ditch  full  of  water  flowed  by  the 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

door.  The  eldest  girl,  eight  years  old,  cried  for  more 
fish  when  there  was  none  left.  Jim  grabbed  the  child 
and  threw  her  with  all  the  force  of  his  makeup, — he  be 
ing  nearly  six  feet  tall,  190  pounds  in  weight  and  thirty- 
two  years  of  age, — into  the  irrigation  ditch.  It  was  only 
a  few  hundred  yards  to  the  treacherous  Grand  River, 
and  Jim  had  to  run  fast  to  catch  the  half  drowned  girl 
before  she  reached  the  river.  Of  course  this  broke  the 
child  of  wanting  fish  after  it  was  all  eaten. 

Jim  F.  and  I  became  fast  friends  after  he  had  seen 
the  newspaper  accounts  of  my  shooting  scrape  in  south 
ern  New  Mexico,  and  of  my  being  an  outlaw  who  was 
badly  wanted  by  the  officers  of  Grant  county,  New  Mex 
ico.  Of  course  I  had  these  accounts  put  into  the  papers 
and  marked  copies  sent  to  me. 

I  was  going  by  the  name  of  Lee  Roy  Davis.  The 
Palisade  paper  once  referred  to  me  as  "mysterious  white- 
horse  Davis,"  my  saddle  horse  being  white. 

During  the  month  of  August,  Jim  F.  and  I  pulled  out 
for  "tall  timber."  We  put  in  a  couple  of  weeks  at  the 
head  of  White  River  above  Meeker.  We  lived  on  ven 
ison  and  fish  and  camped  out  alone.  From  here  we 
drifted  to  Hayden,  Colo.,  where  Jim  F.  had  friends; 
thence  to  Dixon,  Wyo.,  to  show  Bob  Meldrum  the  "man- 
killer"  town  marshal  and  the  vigilantes,  that  Jim  F.  was 
not  afraid  to  come  back.  I  had  promised  to  help  fight 
his  battles,  and  we  came  within  an  ace  of  having  a  shoot 
ing  scrape  with  Bob  Meldrum  on  reaching  Dixon. 

To  recite  how  Jim  F.  and  an  ex-convict  friend  of  his 
by  the  name  of  Ed.  Muirr  made  the  blood  flow  one  night 
when  they  beat  up  and  robbed  a  gang  of  telephone  com- 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  361 

pany  workmen  who  had  been  paid  off,  would  take  up 
too  much  space.  I  didn't  care  to  take  a  hand  in  the  rob 
bery.  Still,  I  got  $60.00  of  the  tainted  money  from  Jim 
F.  in  payment  for  a  loan  made  in  Meeker. 

On  the  Snake  River,  above  Dixon,  at  the  foot  of  Black 
Mountain,  is  where  Jim  F.  lived  on  his  ranch  when  run 
out  of  the  country  by  the  Cattle  Association,  as  it  was 
known  that  he  was  a  cattle  rustler  and  used  his  ranch  for 
a  rendezvous  for  tough  characters. 

It  was  at  this  Black  Mountain  ranch  that  Jim  F.  fur 
nished  horses  and  grub  to  "Kid"  Curry  and  his  gang 
when  they  started  out  to  rob  the  Union  Pacific  train  at 
Tipton,  Wyo.,  about  100  miles  north,  the  fall  previous, 
and  after  the  robbery  Jim  F.  kept  them  hid  on  Black 
Mountain  until  the  officers  quit  searching  for  them.  I 
was  shown  the  exact  spot  where  they  camped  high  up 
on  the  timbered  mountain.  Here  Jim  F.  carried  grub 
to  them  and  kept  them  posted  as  to  the  movements  of  the 
officers.  From  him  I  learned  that  "Kid"  Curry,  Bill 
Cruzan  and  the  "Tall  Texan,"  whose  right  name  was 
Kilpatrick,  held  up  the  train  at  Tipton,  Wyo.  And  I 
found  out  that  after  leaving  the  Black  Mountain  they 
drifted  south  to  the  Blue  Mountains  in  Utah,  thence  fur 
ther  south  into  New  Mexico.  But  before  reaching  Utah, 
Bill  Cruzan  turned  back  on  his  mule  and  later  was  met 
by  Bert  C.  south  of  Grand  Junction,  Colo.  Bert  C, 
Jim  F.  said,  was  a  go-between  and  kept  the  "Wild 
Bunch"  posted  by  getting  mail  or  word  to  them. 

Jim  F.  also  gave  me  the  secrets  of  the  Silcox,  Wyo., 
train  holdup,  and  many  other  noted  cases.  Also  told 
how  he  assisted  in  a  bank  robbery  in  Nebraska,  and  of 


362  A    COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

his  many  cattle  stealing  and  fighting  scrapes  in  the  Black 
Hills  of  Dakota. 

Jim  F.  and  I  were  fixing  to  pull  out  of  Dixon  and  go 
to  Rawlins  to  meet  friends  of  Jim  F's,  when  Ellis,  a 
merchant  of  Dixon,  called  Jim  to  the  rear  of  his  store 
and  advised  him  not  to  go  to  the  Union  Pacific  Railroad 
as  Pinkerton  detectives  were  on  his  trail  and  would  ar 
rest  him.  At  this  Jim  F.  concluded  to  "hit"  the  road 
back  to  Grand  Junction,  Colo.  He  sold  me  his  pack- 
horse  and  outfit  and  gave  me  a  letter  of  introduction  to 
his  friend  Jack  R.  who  stood  in  with  the  "Wild  Bunch," 
and  who  had  two  saloons  in  Rawlins,  Wyo. 

On  leaving  the  Grand  River  at  Jim  F's  home,  my 
name  had  been  changed  to  Harry  Blevins,  so  that  the 
New  Mexico  officers  couldn't  get  track  of  me.  Jim  F. 
selected  my  new  name,  and  in  this  name  he  gave  me 
the  letter  of  introduction  which  was  short  and  to  the 
point.  It  merely  stated:  "This  will  introduce  to  you 
my  friend  Harry  Blevins.  He  is  righter  than  hell." 
Among  the  "Wild  Bunch,"  "right"  meant  that  a  man  is 
all  right  and  can  be  trusted. 

After  seeing  Jim  F.  off  and  headed  south  for  Colo 
rado,  I  pulled  out  for  the  north.  I  put  up  one  night  at 
the  Twenty-mile  ranch  owned  by  Jim  H.,  a  friend  to 
Jim  F.  and  the  "Wild  Bunch."  He  was  a  wealthy  stock 
man  and  had  furnished  one  of  the  horses  to  "Kid"  Curry 
for  the  Tipton  train  holdup.  I  let  him  read  the  letter 
to  Jack  R.  and  he  told  me  to  come  to  him  and  he  would 
find  me  a  hiding  place  should  the  officers  ever  get  on  my 
trail.  He  told  me  about  the  Tipton  and  Silcox  robber 
ies  and  said  he  had  helped  "Kid"  Curry  out  more  than 
once. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  363 

I  arrived  in  the  hurrah  little  city  of  Rawlins,  where 
half  the  men  are  railroad  employes  and  the  other  half, 
with  the  exception  of  the  gamblers  and  saloon  men, 
smell  sheepy.  Even  the  cattlemen  get  to  smelling  like 
sheep  from  the  constant  chasing  of  sheep  off  their 
ranges.  Rawlins  is  the  center  of  a  great  sheep  country. 

Jack  R.  welcomed  me  with  open  arms  on  the  strength 
of  Jim  F's  letter,  and  it  wasn't  long  until  he  told  me  of 
the  "Wild  Bunch"  and  their  doings.  He  had  made  his 
first  stake  through  "Butch"  Casiday  and  his  gang,  after 
they  robbed  the  Montpelier,  Idaho,  bank  out  of  about 
$30,000  in  gold.  At  that  time  Jack  R.  owned  a  small 
saloon  in  Baggs,  on  Snake  River  near  Dixon.  The  gang 
was  headed  for  the  "Robbers'  Roost"  in  southern  Utah 
and  stopped  over  a  few  days  to  rest  in  Baggs,  and  while 
there  they  threw  enough  twenty  dollar  gold  pieces  over 
Jack  R's  bar  to  give  him  a  stake,  so  that  he  could  open 
a  good  saloon  in  Rawlins.  Jack  R.  told  of  how  "Butch" 
would  shoot  an  old  widow's  chickens  just  to  hear  her 
swear.  Then  he  would  have  the  old  lady  smiling  by  giv 
ing  her  a  twenty  dollar  gold  piece  for  every  chicken 
killed. 

During  the  winter  in  and  around  Rawlins,  I  led  a  hur 
rah  drinking  life,  and  made  friends  among  the  tough 
element.  Among  those  met  was  Bert  C,  virtually  one  of 
the  "Wild  Bunch,"  but  who  was  slick  enough  to  keep 
out  of  the  law's  clutches.  His  home  was  in  Grand 
Junction,  Colo.  He  and  I  became  "chummy,"  but  he 
kept  his  secrets  to  himself.  He  was  noted  for  being 
"close-mouthed"  and  no  doubt  that  is  why  "Kid"  Curry 
and  the  "Wild  Bunch"  put  such  confidence  in  him.  But 


364  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

I  played  my  cards  so  as  to  open  Bert  C's  mouth  and  get 
his  secrets. 

In  the  Spring  he  and  I  went  to  Grand  Junction,  Colo., 
where  we  hobnobbed  with  his  tough  cowboy  friends. 
Among  them  was  our  friend  Jim  F. 

During  the  summer  Bert  C.  and  I  rode  from  Grand 
Junction  to  Rawlins,  a  distance  of  about  300  miles,  on 
horseback. 

While  in  Grand  Junction,  I  received  a  fake  letter  from 
my  supposed  attorney,  Ex-Governor  L.  Bradford  Prince, 
requesting  that  I  come  to  Santa  Fe,  New  Mexico,  and 
sign  some  papers  in  order  that  certain  property  could 
be  sold.  This  letter  was  on  Attorney  Prince's  letter 
head  and  looked  genuine. 

Jim  F.  asked  me  to  visit  his  friend  Bob  McGinnis  in 
the  Santa  Fe  penitentiary,  and  if  I  got  a  chance  to  give 
him  a  "Wild  Bunch"  cipher  code,  so  that  they  could 
communicate  with  each  other  through  the  mail.  The  code 
was  each  fourth  word,  in  a  friendly  letter  on  general 
news ;  that  is,  each  fourth  word  to  be  written  down  which 
would  convey  the  secret.  And  I  was  instructed  to  tell 
Bob  McGinnis  to  hold  a  stiff  upper  lip,  as  his  friends 
would  bribe  the  officials  of  New  Mexico  and  have  him 
out  before  many  years. 

Jim  F.  and  Bert  C.  had  told  me  confidentially  who  Bob 
McGinnis  was,  that  he  was  a  Utah  chum  of  "Butch"  Cas- 
iday's,  whose  right  name  was  Elza  Lay.  This  was  a 
secret  which  hadn't  yet  leaked  out. 

Jim  F.  gave  me  certain  words  to  say  to  Bob  McGinnis 
which  would  convince  him  that  I  was  all  right.  He  and 
Jim  F.  had  been  in  the  cattle  stealing  business  together 
several  years  previous. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  365 

In  Santa  Fe,  New  Mexico,  I  took  Ex-Governor  Prince, 
Attorney  General  E.  L.  Bartlett,  and  Warden  H.  O.  Bur- 
som,  of  the  penitentiary,  into  my  confidence,  so  that  I 
got  to  visit  McGinnis  and  gave  him  Jim  F.'s  secrets. 

I  found  McGinnis  to  be  a  pleasant  fellow,  but  a  hard 
looking  "mug."  He  acted  as  though  he  felt  that  a  job 
was  being  put  up  on  him  when  the  guard  was  called 
away  for  a  few  minutes.  It  was  then  that  I  imparted 
the  secrets  to  him. 

Bob  McGinnis  was  one  of  "Black  Jack's"  gang  and 
helped  kill  my  warm  friend  Ed.  Farr,  sheriff  of  Huer- 
fano  County,  Colo.,  also  Ed.  Farr's  deputy,  Mr.  Love. 
In  this  fight  Bob  McGinnis  was  shot  three  or  four  times 
through  the  body  and  then  made  his  "get  away."  Sev 
eral  months  later  he  had  a  hand  to  hand  fight  with  the 
sheriff  of  Eddy  county,  New  Mexico,  and  shot  two  offi 
cers  before  being  overpowered  and  captured.  He  had 
just  recovered  from  his  previous  wounds.  He  and 
"Franks"  were  camped  out  in  the  sand  hills  east  of  the 
Pecos  River,  when  the  sheriff  and  his  posse  surprised 
them.  "Franks"  made  his  "getaway." 

McGinnis  was  tried  for  the  killing  of  Sheriff  Farr  and 
his  deputy,  Love,  after  robbing  a  Denver  &  Ft.  Worth 
train.  He  received  a  life  sentence  in  the  penitentiary  at 
Santa  Fe. 

About  the  time  of  my  visit  with  Bob  McGinnis  in  the 
Santa  Fe  pen  "Butch"  Casiday,  Bill  Carver  and  Harry 
Longbough  robbed  the  Winnamuca,  Nev.,  bank  and  se 
cured  $30,000  in  gold.  It  was  plain  to  me  now,  that 
some  of  this  money  would  be  used  to  free  McGinnis 
from  prison. 


366  A    COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

On  rejoining  Jim  F.  in  Palisade,  Colo.,  I  gave  him  a 
hair  bridle  and  steel  bit  made  by  Bob  McGinnis,  the  bit 
being  made  from  old  files,  as  McGinnis  had  learned  to 
be  a  blacksmith  and  electrician.  I  had  also  brought  from 
the  Santa  Fe  pen  a  hair  bridle  and  bit  for  my  own  use. 
This  is  now  kept  as  a  relic. 

It  was  early  summer  when  Bert  C.  and  I  started,  in 
company  with  his  young  brother,  across  country  for 
Rawlins,  Wyo.  We  each  had  a  saddle  horse  and  I  had 
a  pack  animal  to  carry  the  grub  and  bedding. 

On  reaching  the  Green  Cattle  Company's  headquarters 
ranch  on  the  edge  of  Wyoming,  we  learned  of  the  Den 
ver  &  Rio  Grande  train  holdup  east  of  Grand  Junction, 
and  from  now  on  we  were  suspected  of  having  had  a 
hand  in  the  holdup.  Bert  C.  gave  me  to  understand  that 
Bill  Cruzan  was  in  this  last  holdup.  It  seems  that  Bert 
knew  it  was  billed  to  come  off. 

Before  reaching  Dixon,  Wyo.,  we  met  many  of  Bert 
C's  and  Jim  F's  tough  chums. 

In  Dixon,  Bert  C.  got  a  tip  from  someone,  whom  I 
suspected  to  be  merchant  Ellis — knowing  that  he  had 
given  Jim  F.  a  friendly  tip — that  the  Dickenson  agency 
had  a  cowboy  detective  by  the  name  of  Charlie  Siringo 
working  in  with  the  "Wild  Bunch,"  so  as  to  get  their 
secrets.  This  worried  Bert  and  he  became  sullen  for 
awhile,  as  though  suspicious  of  me.  He  questioned  me 
as  to  whether  I  had  ever  heard  of  Charlie  Siringo.  Of 
course  I  hadn't.  I  felt  confident  that  Ellis  had  gotten 
the  secret  from  either  Asst.  Supt.  Goddil  or  Curran,  as 
they  had  told  me  of  what  a  fine  man  he  was  and  how 
he  could  be  trusted  with  any  secret.  This  goes  to  prove 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  367 

that  it  is  unsafe  for  a  detective  to  trust  his  life  in  the 
hands  of  any  man,  and  this  very  knowledge  is  the  cause 
of  much  sweating  of  blood  by  detectives. 

'From  Dixon,  Bert  C.  and  I  visited  Baggs,  where  his 
sweetheart,  Miss  Maud,  a  respectable  girl,  lived.  We 
remained  in  this  little  hurrah  town  a  few  days  drinking 
and  visiting  with  Bert's  friends. 

Bert  C.  had,  previous  to  our  arrival  in  Dixon,  given 
me  many  secrets  of  the  "Wild  Bunch."  He  told  of  how 
they  kept  a  system  of  blind  post  offices  all  the  way  from 
the  Hole-in-the-Wall  in  northern  Wyoming  to  Alma  in 
southern  New  Mexico,  these  post  offices  being  in  rocky 
crevices  or  on  top  of  round  mounds  on  the  desert.  In 
passing  these  post  offices  he  said  members  of  the  "Wild 
Bunch,"  who  were  on  the  inside,  would  look  for  mail  or 
deposit  notes  of  importance.  Also  late  news  of  interest 
would  be  clipped  from  newspapers  and  deposited  in  the 
post  office  by  passing  members. 

Bert  C.  also  told  me  the  whole  secret  of  "Butch"  Cas- 
iday's  "getaway"  from  Alma,  New  Mexico,  when  he  ran 
a  saloon  there  under  the  name  of  Jim  Lowe.  He  told 
of  how  a  Dickenson  detective  named  "Rank"  Curran  came 
there  in  search  of  the  men  who  had  passed  some  of  the 
stolen  unsigned  bills  from  the  Wilcox  train  holdup,  and 
that  "Butch"  Casiday  happened  to  be  the  man  who  had 
passed  these  bills;  that  after  the  gang  had  run  Murray 
out  of  the  country  "Butch"  sold  his  saloon,  and  in  com 
pany  with  outlaw  "Red"  Weaver,  drifted  west  to  the 
Arizona  line  to  join  "Kid"  Curry  and  his  gang.  He  told 
of  how  "Butch"  and  "Red"  Weaver  were  waylaid  and 
captured  by  William  Beeler's  posse  who  were  on  trail  of 


368  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

"Kid"  Curry  and  gang,  they  being  headed  north  after 
committing  bloody  crimes,  but  that  in  the  night  "Butch" 
made  his  "getaway"  from  the  officers  on  a  bareback 
horse,  without  firearms  or  grub;  that  in  riding  north, 
"Butch"  overtook  the  "Kid"  Curry  gang,  and  thinking 
them  officers  of  the  law  he  kept  out  of  sight  by  hiding 
in  daylight  and  riding  in  the  night,  but  when  he  came  to 
one  of  their  blind  post  offices  he  found  news  which  con 
vinced  him  that  he  had  been  hiding  from  friends,  with 
nothing  to  eat  but  crackers. 

On  reaching  Baggs,  Wyo.,  "Butch"  was  kept  hid  by 
"Mid"  Nichols  (brother  to  my  friend  Tom  Hall)  in  his 
residence.  "Mid"  then  owned  a  saloon  in  Baggs. 

Finally  Beeler  and  his  Arizona  posse  arrived  in  Baggs 
and  took  "Mid"  Nichols  into  their  confidence,  telling  him 
of  how  they  were  on  the  trail  of  the  "Kid"  Curry  gang. 

That  night  "Butch"  left  the  Nichols  home  riding  a 
good  horse  and  saddle  and  armed  to  the  teeth.  He  had 
to  cross  a  bridge  where  two  of  Beeler's  men  were  on 
guard.  They  supposed  he  was  a  rancher  leaving  town, 
and  gave  him  a  friendly  salute. 

"Butch"  then  remained  hidden  in  the  mountains  near 
by  until  the  Beeler  posse  left  Baggs.  Mrs.  "Mid"  Nich 
ols  kept  "Butch"  supplied  with  grub  and  liquor,  as  she 
was  in  the  habit  of  taking  a  horseback  ride  every  day 
for  exercise. 

On  reaching  Rawlins,  Bert  C.  and  I  boarded  a  train  for 
Wolcott,  there  to  meet  Jack  R.,  "Chip"  Reed,  and  other 
friends.  Jack  R.  also  owned  a  saloon  in  Wolcott.  From 
Wolcott  we  all  returned  to  Rawlins.  Then  champagne 
corks  flew  thick  and  fast  for  several  days — then  several 
days  of  agonizing  headaches. 


369 

One  of  the  "Wild  Bunch"  secrets  given  me  by  Bert 
C.  disclosed  the  fact  that  my  friend  Jesse  Black,  of  Alma, 
New  Mexico,  was  a  hard  "hombre"  whose  right  name 
was  Byron  Sessions.  He  had  been  brought  up  in  Utah  and 
went  to  New  Mexico  with  "Butch"  Casiday  after  the 
Montpelier,  Idaho,  bank  robbery. 

I  spent  the  whole  fall  in  and  around  Rawlins  and  had 
the  pleasure  of  riding  "Butch"  Casiday's  pet  mule  "Ikey." 
I  had  gone  with  Jack  R.  on  a  wild  horse  hunt  into  the 
Haystack  Mountains,  where  Jack  R.  kept  a  hired  ma^n 
and  a  pile  of  grub  to  feed  the  "Wild  Bunch"  when  pass 
ing  through  the  country.  On  his  last  visit  here,  after 
our  Asst.  Supt.  Frank  Murray  had  scared  him  out  of 
Alma,  New  Mexico,  "Butch"  had  left  "Ikey"  to  be  cared 
for  by  Jack  R.  I  found  "Ikey"  to  be  a  "peach"  of  a 
mule,  easy  riding  and  as  limber  as  a  cat,  and  he  could 
run  like  a  scared  wolf.  But  he  had  one  fault — he  was 
afraid  of  shooting.  He  left  me  on  the  desert  once  afoot, 
when  I  got  down  to  shoot  at  game. 

On  this  trip  Jack  R.  showed  me  outlaw  Bill  Cruzan's 
rendezvous,  a  rock  cabin  built  high  up  in  the  bluffs  over 
looking  the  Laramie  River,  but  I  found  out  that  Bill  Cru- 
zan  had  quit  living  here  since  the  Dickenson  agency  had 
got  on  his  trail  for  the  Tipton  train  holdup ;  that  now  he 
kept  moving  from  place  to  place,  since  "Kid"  Curry 
had  given  him  the  shake. 

During  the  summer  "Kid"  Curry  and  his  gang  had 
robbed  a  Great  Northern  railroad  train  up  in  Montana, 
securing  a  large  sum  of  new  unsigned  U.  S.  Government 
bills,  and  I  found  out  that  "Kid"  Curry  had  been  in  Raw 
lins  where  he  met  Jack  R.  and  Jim  H.  of  the  Twenty- 
mile  ranch. 

24 


370  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

The  Dickenson  agency  was  employed  to  run  down 
these  West-Northern  train  holdups,  and,  of  course,  all 
the  information  secured  by  me  was  used  in  tracing  up 
the  robbers. 

Finally,  during  the  fall,  the  "Tall  Texan"  (Kilpatrick), 
who  was  with  "Kid"  Curry  when  I  trailed  him  into  the 
Blue  Mountains,  and  who  assisted  in  the  Tipton,  Wyo., 
Union  Pacific  train  holdup,  was  arrested  in  St.  Louis, 
Mo.,  along  with  "Kid"  Curry's  sweetheart.  "Kid"  Curry 
and  one  of  his  chums  made  their  "getaway"  and  Curry 
came  direct  to  Rawlins  to  dig  up  some  of  the  stolen 
Great  Northern  money  which  he  had  cached  on  Jim  H's 
Twenty-mile  ranch.  He  wanted  this  money  to  hire  law 
yers  to  defend  his  sweetheart,  who  had  been  passing  some 
of  the  stolen  bills  in  St.  Louis. 

"Kid"  Curry  only  remained  in  the  vicinity  of  Rawlins 
two  days.  He  then  boarded  a  train  for  the  east.  I 
didn't  know  of  his  being  in  Rawlins  until  two  days  after 
he  had  gone.  Then  I  got  the  secret  from  Jack  R.  and 
Sid.  J.  The  latter  told  of  how  "Kid"  Curry  had  seen 
me  in  a  saloon  one  night  when  he  was  watching  the 
crowd  through  the  rear  door.  He  singled  me  out  as  a 
suspect,  saying  that  I  looked  too  bright  and  wide-awake 
for  a  common  rounder;  but  Sid.  J.  assured  him  that  I 
was  all  right,  though  "Kid"  Curry  wouldn't  believe  it 
until  told  so  by  Jack  R.  They  called  Jack  R.  out  of  his 
saloon  into  the  alley.  Then  Sid.  J.  said  he  asked  Jack 
R.  if  Harry  Blevins  was  "right ;"  that  Jack  replied  "yes." 
Then  "Kid"  Curry  was  satisfied.  I  considered  it  quite 
a  compliment  to  be  called  bright  by  such  a  wide-awake 
judge. 


"Kio"  CURRY  AND  His  SWEETHEART. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  371 

But  poor  "Kid"  Curry  ran  up  against  a  live  issue  on 
this  trip  east.  In  Knoxville,  Tenn.,  he  was  arrested  af 
ter  shooting  two  officers.  He  finally  had  a  trial  in  the 
United  States  Court,  for  passing  money  stolen  in  the 
Great  Northern  train  holdup.  He  was  convicted  on  sev 
eral  different  counts  and  was  sentenced  to  the  pen  for  a 
total  of  130  years,  so  it  was  said. 

During  the  trial  I  was  told  that  my  friend  Jim  T. 
of  the  Little  Rockies  in  Montana,  was  on  hand  with  a 
good  supply  of  the  "long-green"  which  makes  the  mare 
go.  The  result  was  that  "Kid"  Curry  made  his  "get 
away"  from  the  high  sheriff  before  reaching  the  peni 
tentiary  walls,  and  the  supposition  is  that  the  aforesaid 
"long-green"  and  Jim  T.  were  the  lifting  powers  which 
placed  the  "Kid"  on  the  smooth  road  of  freedom. 

The  sheriff  was  arrested  for  liberating  the  "Kid,"  as 
it  was  said  he  received  the  snug  sum  of  $8,000.00  for 
being  asleep  at  the  proper  time.  But  I  never  heard  how 
this  honorable  official  got  out  of  the  scrape.  The  chances 
are  though,  that  he  had  to  use  some  of  his  tainted  money 
to  get  himself  out  of  the  law's  clutches. 

Kilpatrick,  the  "Tall  Texan,"  received  a  sentence  of 
15  years  in  the  pen,  and  "Kid"  Curry's  sweetheart  got  a 
long  sentence  behind  prison  walls. 

Early  in  the  spring  another  one  of  the  "Wild  Bunch," 
Bill  Carver,  was  killed  in  Texas  while  trying  to  make 
his  escape.  Bert  C  informed  me  confidentially,  that  Bill 
Carver  was  the  notorious  "Franks"  of  "Black  Jack" 
fame. 

I  put  in  a  lively  fall  in  Rawlins  and  the  towns  adjoin 
ing,  including  Grand  Encampment,  the  big  mining  camp, 


373  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

and  I  drank  poison  liquor  enough,  against  my  will,  to 
kill  a  mule. 

In  Rawlins  I  was  considered  an  ex-outlaw,  though  no 
one  but  my  friends  knew  where  I  came  from.  Sheriff 
McDaniels  wrote  a  full  description  of  me  to  the  Dicken- 
son  officials  in  Denver,  and  in  the  letter  he  said  I  was 
the  toughest  looking  fellow  he  had  ever  seen,  and  he 
knew  that  I  must  be  an  outlaw  from  the  way  I  stood  in 
with  Bert  C.,  Jack  R.  and  their  gang.  McDaniels  even 
went  to  Denver  and  had  Asst.  Supt.  Curran  look  into 
my  case  to  see  if  something  couldn't  be  dug  up  against 
me,  but  Mr.  Curran  couldn't  find  any  one  in  the  agency's 
rogue's  gallery  who  would  fit  my  complexion. 

During  the  fall  I  was  arrested  in  Rawlins  and  paid  a 
$20  fine  for  carrying  a  pistol.  Judge  Smith  gave  me  the 
full  extent  of  the  law  on  the  strength  of  my  tough  look 
ing  face  and  the  company  which  I  kept. 

There  was  a  big  machinists'  and  boiler-makers'  strike 
under  headway  on  the  Union  Pacific  railroad,  and  Raw 
lins  was  the  hot-bed  of  slugging  matches  on  "scabs,"  and 
of  course,  I  was  in  a  position  to  give  valuable  tips  on  the 
matter  in  my  reports.  My  friends,  the  city  marshal  and 
his  policemen,  all  stood  in  with  the  union  sluggers. 

Among  my  friends  who  stood  in  with  the  "Wild 
Bunch"  gang  was  Charlie  I.,  a  saloon  man  of  Ft.  Steel, 
Wyo.  As  boys,  he  and  I  had  run  cattle  together  in  the 
Panhandle  of  Texas.  He  would  have  known  me  had  I 
been  going  under  my  own  name. 

Another  tough  "hombre"  whom  I  knew  in  Caldwell, 
Kans.,  when  he  was  a  wild  and  woolly  cowboy  there,  was 
Newt.  Kelly,  the  man  who  stabbed  my  friend  Tim  Corn 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  373 

to  the  point  of  death  in  Baggs,  Wyo.  Once  when  drunk 
he  felt  sure  that  he  had  seen  me  in  the  Indian  Territory 
or  Kansas,  but  I  made  him  forget  the  idea. 

Early  in  the  winter  U.  S.  Deputy  Marshal  Joe  LaFors 
came  to  Rawlins  and  Jack  R.  asked  if  he  knew  a  Dicken- 
son  detective  by  the  name  of  Charlie  Siringo.  Not  know 
ing  that  I  was  in  the  country,  LaFors  replied  "Yes,"  and 
described  me  to  a  dot.  Later  Jack  R.  introduced  us. 
We  pretended  to  never  have  met  before,  and  LaFors  in 
sisted  to  Jack  R.  privately,  that  I  was  not  Charlie  Sir 
ingo,  although  the  same  size  and  complexion,  etc.  La 
Fors  and  I  met  to  talk  the  matter  over  later. 

I  could  see  a  coolness  on  the  part  of  Bert  C.  and  Jack 
R.  which  showed  that  they  were  suspicious  of  me,  al 
though  they  tried  to  hide  their  true  feeling. 

A  couple  of  days  later  I  boarded  a  train  for  Salt  Lake 
City,  Utah,  thence  to  join  my  friend  Jim  F.  in  Palisade, 
Colo.  My  horse  was  put  in  a  pasture  in  the  Ferris  Moun 
tains,  and  my  saddle  and  camp  outfit  were  stored  in  Jack 
R's  saloon  to  show  that  I  intended  coming  back.  Several 
years  later  Joe  LaFors  found  out  that  Bert  C.  had  left 
the  country  with  my  saddle  and  outfit  and  that  my  horse 
was  killed  and  used  for  wolf  bait  in  poisoning  wolves. 

After  visiting  a  week  with  Jim  F.  in  Palisade,  I 
started  for  the  Big  Horn  Basin  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
Hole-in-the-Wall  in  northern  Wyoming.  I  had  re 
ceived  instructions  from  Asst.  Supt.  Curran  to  go  up 
there  and  get  in  with  friends  of  the  "Wild  Bunch,"  and 
learn  their  secrets. 

In  order  to  reach  the  Big  Horn  Basin  and  the  Wind 
River  country  I  had  to  go  by  rail  through  Denver,  Colo., 


374  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

and  Sidney,  Neb.,  thence  to  Cody,  Wyo.,  at  the  edge  of 
Yellowstone  Park,  thence  by  stage  coach  100  miles  south 
to  Thermopolis,  Wyo.  Thermopolis  I  found  to  be  a 
small  town  with  the  largest  hot  water  springs  in  the 
United  States.  Her  hope  for  the  future  was  also  large. 

Here  I  registered  at  the  Keystone  hotel  under  a  new 
name — Chas.  Tony  Lloyd — so  that  my  associates  further 
south  wouldn't  learn  of  my  being  here. 

The  Keystone  hotel  was  run  by  an  ex-cowboy,  Emory, 
who  was  friendly  with  all  the  tough  characters  in  the 
surrounding  country,  therefore  I  courted  his  friendship 
and  led  him  to  believe  that  I  was  a  hard  case.  Mr. 
Emory  was  a  law-abiding  citizen  himself,  but  having  been 
a  cowboy  he  naturally  sympathized  with  other  cowboys 
and  cattlemen  who  were  in  trouble.  In  fact,  I  found  the 
general  sentiment  here  to  be  on  the  side  of  the  "Wild 
Bunch"  and  their  class.  Those  who  didn't  sympathize 
with  them  didn't  dare  express  themselves;  that  is,  with 
the  exception  of  a  few  men,  among  whom  was  a  Dr. 
Hale  and  an  ex-deputy  sheriff  by  the  name  of  Cam 
eron.  But  the  latter  had  been  put  out  of  business  a 
few  weeks  previous  to  my  arrival.  He  now  lay  at  the 
Keystone  hotel  shot  full  of  holes  and  at  the  point  of 
death.  He  had  been  shot  by  Fred  Sted,  a  young  tough. 
Cameron  was  the  worst  shot  up  man,  to  be  alive,  that  I 
had  ever  seen.  He  was  shot  in  different  places  through 
the  arms  and  body  with  soft-nose  Winchester  rifle  bul 
lets,  which  generally  tear  a  hole  big  enough  for  a  cat 
to  crawl  through.  He  finally  recovered  though,  but  was 
disfigured  and  crippled  for  life. 

In  Thermopolis  and  the  surrounding  mountains,  I  put 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  375 

in  the  winter  and  made  friends  with  all  the  hard  cases, 
among  whom  were  Fred  Sted,  the  fellow  who  shot  Cam 
eron,  Jim  McCloud,  an  ex-convict  who  escaped  from  the 
Leavenworth,  Kan.,  penitentiary,  and  Tom  O'Day,  one 
of  the  original  members  of  the  "Wild  Bunch,"  who  had 
helped  "Kid"  Curry  and  his  gang  rob  a  Belle  Fourche, 
S.  D.,  bank,  besides  many  other  crimes. 

I  also  made  friends  with  Mike  B.,  a  well-to-do  cattle 
man  who  stood  in  with  the  "Wild  Bunch,"  by  furnishing 
them  grub,  horses  and  money,  and  going  on  their  bonds 
when  in  trouble.  He  had  gone  on  Fred  Sted's  bond  for 
the  shooting  of  Cameron,  and  before  the  trial  came  off, 
Sted  jumped  his  bond  and  "hit  the  road"  for  "tall  tim 
ber."  He  waited  until  green  grass  came  in  the  spring, 
of  course. 

Tom  O'Day  hung  out  at  Lost  Cabin,  about  20  miles 
out  in  the  mountains,  while  Jim  McCloud  made  his  head 
quarters  with  ex-convict  Shaffer  and  a  bad  "hombre"  by 
the  name  of  Frank  James  at  the  Mike  B.  cattle  ranch  a 
few  miles  down  the  Big  Horn  River.  Before  the  winter 
was  half  over,  I  had  become  "chummy"  with  O'Day 
and  McCloud. 

One  morning  O'Day  came  to  town  and  we  met  in 
Skinner's  saloon.  As  O'Day  was  hungry  he  sat  at  a 
table  with  Fred  Sted  in  the  rear  of  the  saloon,  where 
there  was  a  restaurant,  to  eat  a  lunch.  Before  doing 
so  he  unbuckled  his  big  Colts  45  and  belt  of  cartridges 
from  his  waist  and  gave  them  to  the  bar-keeper  to  lay 
behind  the  bar.  After  he  had  sat  down  to  eat,  an  enemy 
walked  up  in  front  of  him  and  pulling  a  pistol  shot  six 
times  at  O'Day's  head,  but  the  fellow  was  excited  and 


376  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

didn't  take  time  to  aim.  Each  bullet  went  over  O'Day's 
head,  just  missing  him  by  a  scratch.  After  the  pistol 
was  empty  the  fellow  broke  to  run  out  of  the  door.  As 
he  did  so  O'Day  threw  his  coffee  cup  at  him  with  such 
force  that  it  struck  the  door  knob,  shattering  it  into  a 
hundred  fragments.  Then  O'Day  put  on  his  pistol  and 
swore  he  wouldn't  be  so  foolish  as  to  play  law-abiding 
citizen  by  putting  it  behind  the  bar  again. 

This  excitement  started  O'Day  to  getting  drunk  earlier 
than  usual,  and  of  course,  I  joined  him.  At  the  Beals 
bath  house,  where  we  had  gone  with  a  crowd,  tougher 
than  ourselves,  we  came  very  near  getting  into  a  pistol 
war  with  the  Beals  family,  who  ran  a  respectable  place. 
We  ran  the  place  to  suit  ourselves,  and  I  had  to  endure 
the  agony  of  hearing  O'Day  call  Mrs.  Beals  all  the  foul 
names  in  the  cowboy  language,  and  furthermore,  I  had 
to  tell  the  good  lady  to  keep  her  mouth  shut  and  to  keep 
her  hubby  hid  out  if  she  didn't  want  to  become  a  widow. 

O'Day  and  I  had  agreed  to  paint  the  town  red  and 
stick  to  each  other  in  spite  of  hades  and  high  water, 
hence  I  couldn't  follow  the  dictates  of  my  conscience,  as 
that  wouldn't  be  business.  Of  course,  if  it  had  come  to 
a  matter  of  saving  the  life  of  a  good  citizen,  business 
wouldn't  have  been  considered. 

It  was  3  o'clock  next  morning  when  O'Day  became  too 
drunk  to  navigate.  Then  we  retired  to  our  virtuous 
couches. 

For  several  days  after,  I  received  lectures  from  the 
preacher  and  two  civilized  school  mar'ms  who  boarded 
at  the  Keystone  hotel.  They  thought  it  a  shame  that  a 
man  like  me  should  throw  himself  away  by  associating 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  377 

with  such  men  as  O'Day  and  his  lewd  female  companions. 
These  good  people  had  been  trying  to  reform  me  ever 
since  my  arrival,  and  this  last  carouse  seemed  to  be  the 
straw  which  broke  the  camel's  back,  hence  the  lectures. 
Of  course,  these  were  bitter  pills  for  me  to  swallow,  but 
I  had  to  gulp  them  down  as  though  they  were  sweet,  for 
it  wouldn't  be  policy  to  make  a  face  showing  they  were 
bitter,  for  fear  of  offending  O'Day  and  his  gang,  should 
they  hear  of  it. 

This  hurrah  life  was  kept  up  until  late  in  the  spring, 
when  I  shook  the  dust  of  the  Big  Horn  Basin  from  my 
feet.  I  hadn't  been  gone  very  long  when  my  chums, 
O'Day  and  McCloud,  were  arrested  for  holding  up  a 
stage  coach  and  stealing  a  bunch  of  horses. 

While  awaiting  trial  in  the  Cheyenne  City  prison,  Jim 
McCloud  and  the  noted  stock  detective,  Tim  Corn, 
broke  jail,  but  both  were  captured  before  getting  out  of 
the  city,  and  soon  after  Corn  was  hung.  Both  Mc 
Cloud  and  O'Day  were  sent  to  the  Wyoming  penitentiary 
for  six  years  each.  My  friend,  Joe  LaFors,  helped  to 
land  them  in  prison,  where  they  both  belonged.  Of 
corrse,  it  was  tough  on  me  to  thus  lose  two  dear  "chums." 

Having  finished  my  work  in  Wyoming,  I  was  hurried 
to  Arizona  to  find  out  the  whereabouts  of  a  certain  "bad" 
man,  who  was  supposed  to  be  in  with  the  "Wild  Bunch," 
so  that  our  agency  could  keep  track  of  his  movements. 
I  had  nothing  to  work  on  but  the  fact  that  he  was  getting 
mail  at  Flagstaff,  Ariz. 

From  the  postmaster  in  Flagstaff,  I  found  out  that 
this  "bad"  man  had  left  for  parts  unknown  and  left  in 
structions  that  his  mail  be  forwarded  to  Gunnison,  Colo. 


378  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

I  had  also  been  instructed  to  locate  a  brother-in-law 
of  the  late  outlaw,  Bill  Carver,  alias  Franks,  and  get 
some  secrets  from  him. 

A  trip  to  Phoenix,  thence  to  Douglas  on  the  Mexican 
border,  put  me  on  trail  of  my  man.  I  had  found  my  old 
cowboy  chum,  Jim  East,  in  Douglas,  and  he  assisted  me. 

Up  in  the  mountains  near  Rodeo  I  found  Bill  Carver's 
brother-in-law,  and  got  all  the  information  wanted.  Then 
I  made  a  little  jump  of  over  1,000  miles  to  Gunnison, 
Colo.  Here  I  located  a  sister  of  my  "bad"  man.  She 
had  a  pretty  i8-year-old  daughter  whom  I  had  to  fall  in 
love  with,  in  order  to  find  out  the  whereabouts  of  her 
"bad"  uncle.  For  about  two  weeks  I  did  some  swift 
courting  and  learned  new  lessons  in  human  nature,  and 
the  power  of  wealth. 

I  had  made  a  confidant  of  Mr.  George  Holmes  and  his 
lovely  wife,  who  owned  a  large  store  in  Gunnison.  They 
introduced  me  into  the  upper  crust  of  Gunnison  society, 
so  that  I  could  take  my  girl  to  the  club  dances,  and  Mr. 
Holmes  gave  the  young  lady  a  tip  that  I  was  a  wealthy 
timber  man.  That  settled  it ;  she  did  the  courting  after 
that.  She  actually  proposed  to  me  one  night  when  we 
were  out  buggy  riding.  If  I  blushed  she  couldn't  see  it 
as  the  night  was  very  dark.  Of  course,  I  tried  to  reason 
with  this  tender  bud  by  telling  her  that  I  was  too  old  to 
marry  a  young  creature  like  herself,  but  she  argued  that 
age  "cut  no  ice"  where  there  is  love  and  plenty  of  money 
to  keep  the  pot  boiling.  I  managed  to  put  off  the  wed 
ding  until  I  could  give  the  matter  mature  thought,  and  in 
the  meantime  I  advised  her  to  figure  out  about  how  much 
she  would  need  for  a  swell  wedding  gown  with  the  nee- 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  379 

essary  trimmings.  She  thought  $250.00  would  cover  the 
bill  nicely. 

After  getting  the  information  wanted,  I  cut  my  sus 
penders  and  went  straight  up,  so  far  as  the  poor  girl  was 
concerned.  But  in  reality  my  confidants,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Holmes  and  Sheriff  Watson,  were  bade  goodby.  Then 
the  train  carried  me  home. 

On  reaching  Denver,  I  closed  the  Union  Pacific  train 
robbery  case  after  having  traveled  more  than  25,000  miles 
by  rail,  vehicles,  afoot  and  on  horseback,  and  after  being 
on  the  operation  constantly  for  about  four  years. 

The  "Wild  Bunch"  during  these  four  years  were 
pretty  well  scattered,  many  being  put  in  their  graves  and 
others  in  prison.  The  only  two  really  "bad"  ones  who  es 
caped  were  "Butch"  Casiday  and  Harry  Longbough. 
But  through  my  work  on  Jim  F.  we  found  out  for  the 
first  time  who  Longbough  was,  and  where  his  relatives 
live.  Jim  F.  had  first  known  him  as  the  "Sundance  Kid" 
up  in  northern  Wyoming. 

And  "Butch"  Casiday  would  no  doubt  have  been 
caught  had  my  hands  not  been  tied  by  Asst.  Supt. 
Curran,  who  insisted  that  he  was  not  Jim  Lowe,  whose 
rendezvous  I  wanted  to  visit;  but  before  his  death  Mr. 
Curran  acknowledged  his  mistake.  Also  Mr.  W.  L. 
Dickenson  confessed  to  me  that  there  was  no  further 
doubt  about  "Butch"  Casiday  and  Jim  Lowe  being  one 
and  the  same  person. 

And  if  Sayles  and  I  had  been  allowed  to  use  our  own 
judgment  in  hurrying  to  Dandy  Crossing  instead  of  go 
ing  to  Ft.  Duchesne,  matters  might  have  taken  a  different 
turn,  although  it  might  have  caused  one  or  both  of  us 
being  planted  on  a  Utah  desert. 


380 


A    COWBOY  DETECTIVE 


During  these  four  years  of  strenuous  life  along  the 
West-Pacific  Railroad  lines,  I  secured  much  valuable  in 
formation  for  the  Dickenson  agency.  That  is,  informa 
tion  not  connected  with  train  holdups,  the  agency  hav 
ing  a  system  wherein  matters  of  importance  are  put  on 
record,  for  immediate  or  future  reference. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A  BIG  RAILROAD  STEALING  CASE  IN  TEXAS  AND  OLD 
MEXICO — A  BULLION  STEALING  OPERATION  IN  SALT 
LAKE,  UTAH. 

On  returning  to  Denver,  I  was  hardly  allowed  time  to 
get  my  breath,  when  Supt.  J.  S.  Kaiser  detailed  me  on 
a  railroad  case  which  had  been  awaiting  my  return. 

I  was  told  that  Mr.  W.  L.  Dickenson,  of  Chicago,  had 
been  holding  this  operation  for  me,  as  the  work  was  for 
one  of  his  personal  friends  and  one  of  the  agency's  best 
clients.  Therefore  I  was  advised  to  do  my  best. 

The  work  lay  in  Texas  and  Old  Mexico,  and  the  gen 
eral  manager  of  the  big  railway  system  was  not  to  know 
of  the  operation  as  the  object  was  to  get  at  the  bottom 
of  big  steals  and  crookedness. 

I  landed  in  a  twin  city  on  the  Texas-Mexico  border 
with  my  saddle  and  cowboy  outfit,  and  pretended  to  be 
a  horse  buyer.  In  the  course  of  a  few  weeks  I  had 
made  myself  solid  with  the  brother  of  the  railway  man 
ager.  He  was  a  high  Mason  and  a  swell  sport.  He 
stood  at  the  top  notch  for  honesty  and  business  ability. 
He  was  a  fine  looking,  large  man  of  middle  age. 

During  the  progress  of  this  operation  I  made  two 
trips  into  San  Antonio,  Tex.  On  the  first  visit  to  the 
Alamo  City,  I  was  taught  a  new  lesson  in  how  clothes 
really  do  make  the  man. 

I  made  the  trip  from  Old  Mexico  to  San  Antonio  in 

381 


382  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

rough  cowboy  clothes.  It  was  late  Saturday  night  when 
I  arrived,  so  that  I  couldn't  buy  clean  clothes.  Next  day 
being  the  Sabbath,  I  concluded  to  ride  out  to  the  Hot 
Sulphur  wells  and  take  a  bath  so  as  to  pass  off  the  time. 
An  electric  car  dumped  me  off  at  a  swell  place  a  few 
miles  out  of  the  city.  The  bath  house  and  hotel  were 
connected.  They  were  grand  and  must  have  cost  a  mil 
lion  dollars,  and  were  grand  new  buildings. 

After  taking  a  Turkish  bath  and  geting  back  into  my 
old  clothes  I  went  into  the  office  to  pay  my  bill.  The 
new  manager  of  the  new  institution  waited  on  me.  He 
was  a  fine  looking,  dark-complexioned  man  with  winning 
ways.  He  asked  me  as  a  favor  to  go  up  to  the  new  hotel 
and  try  their  Sunday  dinner,  and  that  if  I  didn't  say  it 
was  the  finest  meal  served  west  of  New  York,  it  wouldn't 
cost  me  a  cent.  I  begged  to  be  excused  on  account  of 
my  rough  clothes,  but  he  argued  that  clothes  don't  make 
the  man,  that  my  face  covered  all  the  defects  in  the 
clothing.  He  finally  offered  to  borrow  some  clothes  for 
me  to  wear  in  the  dining  room,  but  this  I  wouldn't  hear 
to.  So  to  please  the  gentleman  I  agreed  to  go.  It  was 
then  after  the  noon  hour. 

Strolling  through  the  quarter  of  a  mile  of  covered 
walk,  I  arrived  in  the  hotel  rotunda.  After  registering 
I  made  a  bee  line  for  the  large  dining  room,  which  was 
crowded  with  fashionable  ladies  and  gentlemen.  Throw 
ing  my  big  cowboy  hat  on  the  hatrack  I  entered  the  din 
ing  room  door,  but  here  I  was  stopped  by  a  black,  shiny 
individual,  whose  forefathers  way  back  in  the  dark  and 
woolly  past,  fought  their  battles  with  cocoanuts  from  the 
tree  tops,  His  face  was  so  black  that  charcoal  would 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  383 

have  made  a  white  mark  on  it.  He  said:  "Hold  on 
dah,  mister,  who  is  it  you  wants  to  see?"  I  replied  that 
I  wanted  a  square  meal.  He  then  said :  "Dats  all  right 
sah,  I'll  show  you  whar  you  can  fill  up." 

He  then  led  me  to  a  small  side  room  fronting  on  the 
hallway.  My  head  began  to  swell  up  for  I  thought  he 
was  going  to  put  me  into  a  choice,  private  dining  room 
away  from  the  common  herd,  so  that  I  could  verify  the 
manager's  promise  that  they  served  the  best  meal  west 
of  New  York. 

I  was  shoved  into  the  small  room  where  sat  a  lady  and 
small  child  eating  their  dinner. 

After  a  long  wait  a  small  negro  boy  came  to  get  my 
order.  He  called  off  a  few  common  articles  and  I  told 
him  to  bring  me  the  best  in  the  house.  The  stuff  he 
brought  was  "on  the  bum,"  and  no  doubt  it  tasted  worse 
because  the  manager  had  screwed  up  my  mouth  for  a 
fine  meal.  The  meat  was  so  tough  I  couldn't  eat  it. 

After  another  long  wait  the  boy  came  back  and  I  or 
dered  cake  and  preserved  figs.  The  boy  looked  at  me 
with  astonishment  and  said:  "No  siree,  you  can't  get 
no  figs  in  dis  room.  You  can  hab  de  cake  but  de  figs 
don't  go."  I  asked  why,  and  he  replied:  "Caus  we 
don't  dish  out  figs  to  de  serbents." 

Then  my  wrath  which  had  been  accumulating  ever 
since  the  tough  meat  was  laid  to  one  side,  broke  loose. 
Things  were  said  which  were  uncomplimentary  to  such 
a  swell  establishment.  I  left  the  room  at  once,  with  the 
intention  of  bending  the  barrel  of  my  old  pet  Colts  45 
pistol  around  the  African's  head  for  putting  me  into  the 
servants'  dining  room.  But  on  reaching  the  hallway  I 


384  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

concluded  that  such  a  scene  on  Sunday  would  be  brutish, 
as  it  might  cause  some  of  the  ladies  and  children  in  the 
dining  room  to  faint.  It  would  at  least  have  spoiled 
their  dinner.  Then  I  decided  to  go  down  to  the  bath 
house  and  give  the  manager  a  piece  of  my  mind. 

In  walking  through  the  rotunda  the  clerk  called  my 
attention  to  the  fact  that  my  dinner  hadn't  been  paid  for. 
He  soon  found  out  though,  that  he  had  stirred  up  a  hor 
net's  nest,  so  he  allowed  me  to  pass  out. 

On  reaching  the  bath  house,  I  learned  that  the  man 
ager  had  boarded  a  car  and  gone  to  the  city.  I  then 
did  likewise,  and  in  a  cafe  got  a  square  meal. 

About  two  weeks  later,  on  finishing  my  work  in  Old 
Mexico  and  the  western  edge  of  Texas,  I  spent  another 
Sunday  in  San  Antonio.  This  time  I  wore  good  clothes 
and  made  another  trip  to  the  Hot  Sulphur  Wells.  I  found 
the  manager  absent,  but  nevertheless  I  tried  his  Sunday 
dinner,  and  found  it  fine.  The  big  African  usher  didn't 
know  that  he  had  ever  seen  me  before.  He  was  all 
smiles  when  he  turned  me  over  to  the  head  waiter,  who, 
no  doubt,  thought  I  was  good  for  at  least  a  twenty-five 
cent  tip,  but  he  was  mistaken,  as  I  hadn't  gotten  over  my 
disappointment  of  the  previous  visit.  All  "coons"  still 
looked  alike  to  me. 

This  experience  convinced  me,  beyond  a  doubt,  that 
clothes  do  make  the  man,  especially  among  people  who 
cannot  judge  human  nature  through  the  face. 

Asst.  Supt.  "Hank"  Geary,  now  superintendent  of  our 
Denver  office,  came  to  Old  Mexico  to  assist  me  in  clos 
ing  the  operation. 

The  wind-up  was  a  success,  as  I  had  caught  the  brother 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  385 

of  the  general  manager  stealing  money  from  the  railway 
company  outright ;  also  caught  many  of  his  friends 
among  the  passenger  conductors. 

I  arrived  back  in  Denver  after  an  absence  of  about 
two  months,  but  only  to  remain  over  night  as  an  oper 
ation  had  been  awaiting  my  return  for  nearly  two  months. 
Mr.  Z.  B.  James,  the  Salt  Lake  City,  Utah,  banker  and 
smelter  man,  was  the  client  and  he  wouldn't  have  any 
one  but  me  to  do  the  work.  Of  course,  I  was  anxious 
to  get  back  to  the  swift  little  city  by  the  great  Salt  Lake, 
and  it  was  a  pleasure  to  know  that  banker  James  had 
overlooked  my  sin  of  having  "flim-flammed"  him  out  of 
that  silver  dollar  the  night  that  operative  Billy  S.  and  I 
had  the  stolen  ore  in  his  residence. 

A  five  hundred  mile  ride  on  the  D.  &  R.  G.  Railway, 
over  the  backbone  of  the  American  continent,  landed  me 
in  Salt  Lake  City.  Mr.  James  was  met  in  his  private  of 
fice  in  the  Z.  B.  James'  bank,  and  the  work  discussed. 
He  explained  that  his  large  smelter  at  Murray,  six  miles 
east  of  the  city,  had  been  sold  to  the  smelter  trust,  hence 
this  work  was  to  be  done  for  them  under  his  supervision. 
He  explained  that  bars  of  bullion  had  been  missed  from 
the  smelter  and  also  from  sealed  cars  after  their  arrival 
at  the  eastern  refinery,  so  he  wanted  me  to  get  in  with 
the  tough  element  of  Curran  and  Salt  Lake  City  and  find 
out  who  were  doing  the  stealing. 

In  the  smelter  town  of  Murray  I  secured  a  cheap  room, 
and  with  "bum"  clothes  on,  I  loafed  in  the  toughest  sa 
loons  in  the  town. 

In  the  course  of  a  couple  of  weeks  I  was  in  solid  with 
the  toughest  thieves  and  cut-throats  ever  allowed  to  go 

25 


386  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

unhung.  Some  of  them  were  married  men,  and  when 
not  on  raids,  they  were  at  home  with  their  families, 
bringing  up  a  new  set  of  criminals  for  the  future.  Some 
lived  in  Murray  and  others  in  Salt  Lake  City.  Of  course, 
I  visited  freely  among  them  and  became  one  of  the  gang, 
though  I  refused  to  assist  in  their  petty  thieving  and  rob 
bing,  as  I  claimed  to  be  holding  my  energy  in  reserve 
for  large  deals. 

My  two  months'  operation  showed  up  big  steals  where 
in  cars  of  bullion  were  broken  into.  Also  where  bullion 
was  stolen  direct  from  the  smelter. 

A  Mormon,  whose  brothers  were  high  up  in  the  church 
and  in  with  county  officials,  was  the  leader  of  these  steals. 
And  to  save  their  good  name  the  small  caliber  superin 
tendent  of  the  Rio  Grande  Western  Railway,  Welby,  and 
his  Mormon  Special  Agent,  John  Brown,  did  underhand 
trickery  which  would  have  been  a  disgrace  to  a  Piute 
Indian. 

My  work,  though,  put  a  stop  to  future  steals  and 
banker  James  was  satisfied.  Several  of  the  smelter  em 
ployes,  who  stood  in  with  the  steals,  lost  their  jobs.  My 
friend  "Cunny"  helped  me  to  close  the  operation. 


"Doc"  LOCKREDGE  AND  THE  AUTHOR. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A  MINING  CASE  IN  ALMA,  COLORADO — A  PROSPECTING 
TRIP  WITH  A  HALF-BREED  MEXICAN  —  TAKING 
PRISONER  TO  KANSAS  CITY,  MISSOURI — WORKING 
ON  UNITED  STATES  SENATOR  SMOOT. 

After  returning  from  Salt  Lake,  I  was  detailed  on 
many  different  kinds  of  operations,  some  of  them  taking 
me  out  of  the  city  and  state  for  a  few  weeks  at  a  time. 
On  one  of  these  trips  to  Gunnison,  Colo.,  and  other 
places,  I  looked  up  evidence  against  the  noted  English 
mine  promoter,  Whittaker  Wright. 

Another  operation  was  for  a  very  prominent  financier, 
of  Denver.  On  this  work  I  spent  about  a  month  in  the 
mining  town  of  Alma,  Colo.,  and  of  course,  I  had  many 
visits  with  my  old  friend  "Doc"  Lockridge.  I  found 
him  living  alone  high  up  in  the  mountains  on  the  edge 
of  timber-line. 

Strange  to  relate,  I  saw  in  the  Alma  livery  stable 
"Jacky's"  bronco,  which  I  broke  to  ride  about  fourteen 
years  previous.  He  was  now  a  swell  driver. 

This  operation  proved  a  success,  but  I  hated  to  face 
one  of  the  financier's  mining  partners  who  had  in  confi 
dence  given  me  the  secrets  of  a  crooked  deal. 

This  partner  was  a  nice  fellow,  and  he  and  his  lovely 
young  wife  had  treated  me  royally  at  their  nice  home  in 
Alma.  I  had  passed  myself  off  as  a  rich  mining  man 
from  New  Mexico. 

387 


388  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

While  with  this  financier,  in  his  private  office  in  a 
certain  firm  of  Denver,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting 

Mr.  ,  one  of  the  high  officials  of  this  firm.  This 

brought  back  memories  of  my  first  winter  in  Denver  as 
a  detective,  over  fifteen  years  previous. 

He  was  then  a  young  man  trying  to  sprout  a  mus 
tache.  For  one  whole  month  they  had  me  shad 
owing  this  young  man,  who  held  a  minor  position  in  the 
said  business  firm,  so  as  to  find  out  his  habits,  which 
were  model,  and  of  the  Sunday  School  order.  But  I 
prayed  that  he  would  get  "bad"  and  spend  his  evenings 
down  town.  Twice  a  week  he  would  visit  his  sweetheart 
out  on  Capitol  Hill,  which  was  then  a  howling  wilder 
ness,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  new  residences  scat 
tered  here  and  there,  and  no  sidewalks. 

I  had  to  remain  out  in  the  bitter  cold  while  he  did  his 
courting  in  the  parlor.  One  bitter  cold  night  I  got 
warmed  up  by  peeping  under  the  window  curtain  at  the 
bright  fire  and  the  red-hot  love-making.  They  were  pure 
and  innocent,  and  kept  a  bright  light  burning  in  the  lamp. 
About  midnight  he  would  depart  for  his  room  down  town 
and  he  would  whistle  every  step  of  the  way,  which  made 
it  easy  for  me  to  follow. 

No  doubt  my  favorable  reports  started  Mr. to 

the  high  position  he  now  holds. 

About  the  time  that  this  operation  was  finished  I 
was  detailed  on  a  case  at  Hastings,  Colo.  The  Wonder 
Fuel  Company  there  had  one  of  their  large  barns  full  of 
horses  burned  up,  and  I  was  sent  there  to  find  out  who 
did  it.  No  one  but  the  president  of  the  company,  Mr. 
Delma  B.  Capilla,  and  the  local  manager,  Mr.  Johnson, 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  389 

were  to  know  me.  But  later  I  found  out  that  Mr.  John 
son  became  frightened  for  my  safety  and  confided  in  the 
two  town  marshals,  Hightower  and  King. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  weeks  I  was  positive  that  Joe 
Johnson,  a  half-breed  man-killer,  who  lived  with  his 
Mexican  family  there,  had  committed  the  crime  with  the 
help  of  his  brother-in-law  and  a  half-breed  Mexican  by 
the  name  of  Wilford  H. 

But  the  question  was  to  get  evidence  sufficient  to  con 
vict.  Therefore,  it  was  decided  that  I  hire  Wilford  H. 
and  go  on  a  gold  prospecting  trip  through  the  moun 
tains  of  Colorado  and  New  Mexico.  The  idea  was  to 
get  him  off  by  himself  in  hopes  that  he  would  confess. 

After  a  few  days  spent  in  the  little  city  of  Trinidad,  on 
the  border  of  Colorado,  Wilford  H.  and  I  boarded  a 
north-bound  D.  &  R.  G.  train  for  Walsenburg,  where  we 
bought  our  saddle  animals  and  outfit. 

In  Walsenburg,  Wilford  had  many  Mexican  friends. 
I  had  two  friends  in  the  town  to  whom  I  confided.  They 
were  the  sheriff,  Jeff  Farr,  brother  of  sheriff  Ed.  Farr, 
who  was  killed  by  Bob  McGinnis  of  the  "Black  Jack" 
gang,  and  undersheriff  Jack  McQuerry. 

Not  having  my  rifle  with  me,  Jeff  Farr  loaned  me  the 
Winchester  rifle,  owned  by  his  brother  Ed.  before  his 
death,  for  the  trip. 

On  Wilford's  and  my  leaving  Walsenburg,  our  first 
camp  was  pitched  at  the  foot  of  the  Spanish  Peaks  about 
two  miles  from  the  Staplin  ranch,  a  tourist's  resort.  We 
camped  here  about  a  week  or  ten  days  and  prospected 
the  Spanish  Peaks  from  one  side  to  the  other,  even  up  to 
the  extreme  summit  of  the  highest  peak. 


390  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

From  the  Spanish  Peaks  we  drifted  into  New  Mexico 
and  camped  in  many  wild  spots  where  a  human  being 
would  not  be  seen  for  days  at  a  time. 

At  the  once  prosperous  boom  mining  camp  of  LaBelle, 
New  Mexico,  we  rested  a  couple  of  days.  In  this  town 
there  were  buildings  enough  for  several  hundred  inhabi 
tants,  but  only  one  lone  Dutchman  lived  in  the  place  then. 
I  had  visited  LaBelle  once  years  before,  when  the  "boom" 
was  on,  and  the  town  was  overcrowded  with  people  from 
every  corner  of  the  earth;  hence  I  couldn't  help  but  no 
tice  the  great  change.  On  my  former  visit  while  on  trail 
of  a  "bad"  man  from  the  Wet  Mountain  Valley  in  Colo 
rado,  I  arrived  in  the  town  after  midnight  and  at  that 
late  hour  the  saloons  were  filled  with  drunken  life. 

That  operation  was  for  Mr.  Hiram  Wilkins,  a  big 
hardware  merchant  of  Colorado,  and  while  on  it  I  had 
many  ups  and  downs  and  hard  rides. 

From  LaBelle  we  went  to  Elizabethtown,  thence 
crossed  the  big  mountain  range  to  Taos,  the  home  and 
burial  place  of  the  noted  Kit  Carson.  Here  Wilford  had 
some  Mexican  relatives,  as  he  was  born  and  partly  raised 
in  Taos.  For  the  time  being,  he  dropped  his  Colorado 
name  of  Wilford  H.  and  took  up  his  right  name  of  Wil 
ford  W.  Of  course,  I  was  cautioned  not  to  give  it  away 
that  he  had  been  using  another  name. 

After  a  few  days'  rest  in  Taos,  we  drifted  south  twenty- 
five  miles  into  the  high  mountains  where  no  one  lived,  and 
where  we  didn't  see  any  one  for  a  whole  week.  Here 
I  did  my  best  to  get  a  full  confession  out  of  Wilford, 
but  failed.  He  gave  the  full  details  of  how  the  stable  was 
set  afire  in  revenge  for  the  company  running  an  oppo- 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  391 

sition  hack  and  stage  line  to  ruin  the  business  of  Joe 
Johnson,  and  he  gave  me  to  understand  that  Joe  Johnson, 
with  the  help  of  others,  set  fire  to  the  stable  and  that  he 
(Wilford)  saw  the  first  blaze  and  could  have  saved  the 
horses  from  burning  up  had  he  desired  to  do  so. 

The  fact  is,  he  wanted  me  to  know  that  he  knew  all 
about  the  crime,  but  he  didn't  want  to  say  enough  to 
incriminate  himself  and  Joe  Johnson.  He  proved  to  be  a 
pretty  foxy  half-breed. 

I  had  received  orders  from  our  Asst.  Supt.  P.  P.  Ber- 
riman,  now  superintendent,  who  had  charge  of  the  op 
eration,  to  "shake"  Wilford  H.  as  soon  as  I  felt  satisfied 
that  sufficient  evidence  to  convict  could  not  be  secured, 
and  come  home. 

As  Wilford  wanted  to  remain  in  Taos  with  his  rela 
tives,  I  shook  him  and  then  started  down  the  Rio  Grande 
river,  two  days'  travel  to  Embudo,  where  my  outfit  was 
sold.  It  being  only  a  few  hours  run  on  the  D.  &  R.  G. 
railway  from  Embudo  to  New  Mexico's  ancient  capital, 
Santa  Fe,  I  went  there  to  visit  my  ranch  and  put  in  one 
day  and  night  with  my  pets. 

Then  I  returned  to  Denver  and  discontinued  the  oper 
ation  after  being  on  it  about  two  or  three  months. 

Soon  after  this,  Joe  Johnson  shot  and  killed  a  promi 
nent  man  by  the  name  of  Fox  in  Trinidad,  Colo.  Mr. 
Fox  was  writing  a  letter  in  the  post  office  when  Joe  John 
son  stepped  up  to  him  and  blew  out  his  brains  with  a 
shot  from  a  large  pistol,  and  for  this  Johnson  was  hung 
by  the  neck  until  dead.  Thus  society  got  rid  of  one 
"bad"  man,  even  though  I  had  made  a  failure  of  sending 
him  to  the  penitentiary. 


392  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE. 

Soon  after  my  return  to  Denver,  I  was  detailed  to 
work  on  the  Gratton  case  in  Colorado  Springs,  for  the 
Gratton  Estate. 

Millionaire  Gratton,  the  lucky  carpenter  who  had  dis 
covered  the  rich  Independence  mine  in  Cripple  Creek, 
had  died  and  his  son  was  trying  to  break  his  will,  through 
the  courts.  I  was  sorry  when  the  contending  forces  com 
promised  their  differences,  as  it  knocked  myself  and  sev 
eral  other  Dickenson  operatives  out  of  leading  a  high-life 
in  the  lovely  little  city  of  Colorado  Springs. 

Soon  after  the  Gratton  case  ended,  I  had  a  pleasant 
trip  to  Kansas  City,  Mo.,  with  a  man  who  had  no  sus 
picion  that  I  was  a  sleuth.  Had  he  suspected  me  he 
would  have  jumped  off  the  train  and  possibly  broken  his 
neck.  We  wanted  to  get  him  into  Kansas  City  to  save 
extradition  expenses.  The  moment  he  stepped  off  the 
train  in  Kansas  City  I  pointed  him  out  to  Mr.  Williston, 
the  superintendent  of  our  Kansas  City  office,  who  was  at 
the  depot  to  meet  me.  Then  he  had  a  local  officer  arrest 
the  man  without  his  ever  knowing  that  I  was  in  the  game. 

I  boarded  an  early  morning  train  for  home. 

My  stay  in  Denver  was  short,  as  Asst.  Supt.  "Rank" 
Curran  hustled  me  off  to  Utah  in  company  with  opera 
tive  J.  V.  Marke,  now  an  assistant  superintendent  of  the 
Denver  office,  and  operative  B.,  our  work  being  to  dig 
up  evidence  against  a  distinguished  citizen  of  Provo, 
Utah;  to  prevent  him  taking  his  seat  in  a  public  place, 
our  clients  being  boss  workers  in  the  Lord's  vineyard, 
who  didn't  like  the  taste  of  the  sour  grapes  coming  from 
the  corner  of  the  same  vineyard  where  this  gentleman 
worked. 


A  COWBOY -DETECTIVE  393 

We  operatives  were  divided  into  different  districts, 
mine  being  the  beautiful  little  city  of  Prove,  the  home  of 
the  quarry.  In  Provo  my  headquarters  were  estab 
lished  though  some  of  my  work  was  done  in  Salt  Lake 
City,  where  I  knew  one  church  leader,  Mr.  Cannon, 
whose  acquaintance  I  had  made  while  on  my  first  opera 
tion  for  Banker  James. 

I  had  adopted  the  name  of  Charles  T.  Lloyd  in  Provo, 
and  passed  myself  off  as  a  well-to-do  mining  man  from 
New  Mexico. 

I  had  been  instructed  to  run  down  a  certain  young 
lady  of  Provo,  who  was  supposed  to  have  married  this 
citizen  and  was  living  in  one  of  the  church  colonies  of 
Old  Mexico,  as  one  of  this  man's  plural  wives.  No 
one  in  Provo  seemed  to  know  what  had  become  of  this 
young  lady  after  her  supposed  plural  marriage  to  him, 
as  she  had  promptly  dropped  out  of  sight  as  though  the 
ground  had  swallowed  her  up. 

I  worked  on  the  high  and  mighty,  the  low,  leading 
people  of  Provo,  and  others,  who  had  more  wives  than 
the  law  allows,  and  I  secured  "cinch"  cases  against  some 
of  them. 

I  found  out  that  Miss  Bessie  Johnson  had  been  a 
schoolgirl  chum  of  the  young  lady  who  was  supposed  to 
be  in  Mexico  as  the  wife  of  the  hunted  one.  Therefore  I 
started  out  to  win  the  friendship  and  acquaintance  of 
Miss  Bessie.  A  Mr.  Moran,  who  owned  a  barber  shop 
in  Provo  was  used  as  the  cat's  paw  to  pull  my  chestnuts 
out  of  the  fire.  He  was  a  fine  fellow  and  a  friend  to  the 
Johnson  family. 

I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  pretend  to  be  in  love  with 


394  'A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Miss  Bessie,  no  matter  how  homely  she  might  be.  But 
these  pretentions  turned  into  facts  the  moment  that  Mr. 
Moran  introduced  me  to  the  young  lady  at  her  home. 
It  was  one  of  my  many  genuine  cases  of  love  at  first 
sight,  and  even  to  this  day  little  Cupid  gives  me  a  dig  in 
the  ribs  with  his  dart,  when  I  think  of  her,  which  is  quite 
often,  although  she  is  now  married  to  a  Salt  Lake  City 
business  man. 

During  the  balance  of  my  stay  in  Provo,  not  a  day 
passed  without  my  meeting  Miss  Bessie,  who  was  just 
as  sweet  as  she  was  pretty.  She  used  to  play  the  piano 
for  me  while  her  pretty  young  sister  Marie  sang,  and 
they  made  a  team  hard  to  beat. 

From  Miss  Bessie  I  found  out  all  about  the  supposed 

young  plural  wife  of  Mr.  .  She  was  then  in  a 

college  at  Logan,  Utah,  finishing  her  education.  She  and 
Bessie,  who  was  twenty-one  years  of  age,  corresponded 
with  each  other,  and  Bessie  had  the  young  lady's  photo 
which  was  shown  to  me. 

After  nearly  a  two  months'  t,tay  in  Provo,  during 
which  time  much  of  the  honey  of  life  was  sipped  by 
yours  truly,  my  tent  was  folded  and  a  start  made  for 
Denver,  Colo. 

As  my  reports  showed,  the  intended  victim  came  out 
with  flying  colors.  He  lived  a  happy  contented  life  with 
a  lovely  wife  whom  I  talked  with,  and  a  house  full  of 
nice,  bright  children,  and  if  he  had  other  than  this  lawful 
wife,  I  failed  to  discover  it. 

Mr. owns  a  business  in  Provo,  and  I  failed  to 

find  one  individual  who  had  a  bad  wor4  to  say  against  his 
moral  character. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  WENTZ  KIDNAPPING  CASE  —  EIGHT  MONTHS 
AMONG  THE  MOONSHINERS  OF  KENTUCKY  AND  VIR 
GINIA. 

My  next  operation  was  an  educator,  as  I  was  thrown 
among  a  strange  class  of  people  who  think  nothing  of 
taking  human  life. 

It  was  about  the  middle  of  November,  1903,  when 
manager  of  the  Western  Division,  Mr.  Jas.  McCartney, 
called  me  into  his  private  office  to  inform  me  that  I  had 
been  selected  for  an  operation  after  every  agency  office 
in  the  United  States  had  been  scoured  for  a  suitable 
operative  to  do  the  work.  He  then  gave  me  an  outline 
of  the  operation  which  was  to  be  conducted  through  the 
Philadelphia  office,  our  client  being  Millionaire  Dr.  Wentz 
of  Philadelphia,  Pa.,  whose  young  son  Edward  Wentz 
had  lately  been  kidnapped  in  the  mountains  of  Virginia 
and  was  supposed  to  be  held  a  prisoner  in  Kentucky  for 
a  ransom,  although  it  was  feared  that  the  young  man 
had  been  taken  to  Kentucky  and  murdered  for  revenge. 

Mr.  McCartney  informed  me  that  it  was  a  very  dan 
gerous  operation  and  asked  if  I  were  willing  to  under 
take  it.  Of  course  I  replied  yes,  as  I  was  itching  to  have 
some  new  experiences  and  to  see  new  country.  Then 
Asst.  Supt.  "Hank"  Geary  gave  me  the  large  pile  of  cor 
respondence  which  had  taken  place  between  the  different 
offices  on  the  subject  to  read  over. 

395 


396  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Mr.  McCartney's  letter  to  the  head  officials  of  the 
New  York  office  caused  my  head  to  expand  several 
inches,  for  he  gave  me  a  great  "send  off,"  and  the  replies 
to  this  letter  were  equally  flattering.  I  was  thought  to 
be  the  only  man  in  the  agency  who  could  go  among  the 
"moonshiners"  of  the  Kentucky  mountains  and  stay 
there  in  spite  of  danger  and  threats. 

On  short  notice  I  boarded  a  train  on  the  U.  P.  Ry.  for 
Chicago,  111.  Arriving  in  the  smoky  city  by  the  lake, 
I  called  at  our  agency  office  to  see  the  "boys,"  including 
Mr.  W.  L.  Dickenson,  Gen.  Supt.  F.  V.  Taylor  and  Supt. 
Schaumwort. 

At  night  Charlie  S.  saw  me  off  on  the  Cannon  Ball 
train  for  Buffalo,  New  York,  by  way  of  Detroit,  Mich., 
and  through  Canada  to  Niagara  Falls. 

From  the  train  I  had  a  fair  view  of  Niagara  Falls 
and  other  sights.  In  Buffalo,  New  York,  I  laid  over  one 
night.  I  enjoyed  the  ride  from  Buffalo  to  Philadelphia, 
as  everything  seemed  different  from  "out  west." 

In  Philadelphia  I  found  the  cleanest,  most  good-natured 
city  that  I  had  ever  been  in,  but  holy  smoke,  to  use  a  cow 
boy  phrase,  she  is  slow.  Even  the  girls  and  the  "hurry- 
up  wagon"  are  not  so  swift  as  in  other  cities.  And  I 
found  that  same  graveyard  slowness  prevailing  in  our 
office,  from  the  superintendent  down  to  the  office  boy. 

I  turned  myself  over  to  the  superintendent,  Mr.  A.  M. 
Pierce,  and  he  turned  me  over  to  Asst.  Supt.  E.  E. 
Eslin,  who  had  charge  of  the  Dr.  Wentz  kidnapping 
operation. 

When  not  busy  working  in  the  office  to  familiarize 
myself  with  the  operation,  I  was  taking  in  the  sights 


397 

of  the  city,  the  most  interesting  being  the  building  where 
the  Declaration  of  Independence  was  signed;  also  the 
art  galleries  were  interesting  to  me. 

Chief  Clerk  Dailey  kindly  acted  as  pilot  in  showing 
me  the  sights  of  the  city. 

After  spending  a  week  in  the  city  of  Brotherly  Love, 
I  was  called  to  New  York  City  by  Mr.  Roydel  L.  Dick- 
enson,  who  wanted  to  consult  with  me  about  the  Dr. 
Wentz  operation.  Of  course,  this  just  suited  me  as  I 
wanted  to  see  that  city  of  sky-scrapers. 

The  day  was  spent  with  Mr.  Dickenson,  he  taking  me 
out  to  lunch  with  himself  and  Gen.  Manager  Mr.  Geo. 
E.  Langston. 

In  advising  me  about  my  future  work  in  Kentucky 
and  Virginia,  Mr.  Dickenson  said  I  was  taking  my  life 
into  my  own  hands  and  that  he  didn't  expect  to  see  me 
come  out  of  those  mountains  alive.  He  said  I  had  no 
idea  of  what  kind  of  people  inhabited  those  mountains ; 
that  they  are  a  different  class  from  those  of  Texas  and 
the  west;  that  they  think  nothing  of  shooting  a  man  in 
the  back  on  the  least  provocation;  that  they  are  not  the 
kind  of  men  who  will  fight  it  out  face  to  face  with  an 
opponent;  that  the  records  of  the  Dickenson  agency 
since  1850  prove  this.  Therefore,  in  a  serious  manner 
Mr.  Dickinson  advised  me  to  expect  death  at  any  mo 
ment.  He  said  it  was  almost  impossible  to  get  an  oper 
ative  located  in  those  mountains,  from  the  fact  that 
strangers  do  not  go  in  there  unless  they  have  business, 
and  in  that  case  they  are  known  by  the  merchants  or  have 
letters  to  some  one  there  stating  the  nature  of  their 
mission. 


398  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

He  said  the  main  object  was  to  find  Edward  Wentz 
if  still  alive  and  held  a  prisoner,  so  as  to  get  soldiers 
in  there  and  clean  out  the  country,  or  if  dead,  to  recover 
the  body.  He  thought  it  would  be  almost  out  of  the 
question  to  convict  any  one  in  the  courts  of  that  country 
owing  to  the  fact  that  the  Virginia  Coal  &  Iron  Co.  of 
which  Dr.  Wentz  is  president,  had  many  enemies  among 
the  ignorant  and  lawless  element,  and  because  the  people 
are  all  mixed  up  and  related  to  each  other,  so  that  it  is 
difficult  to  get  an  unbiased  jury.  He  felt  sure  that  I 
wouldn't  be  in  there  away  from  the  railroad  twenty- four 
hours  before  they  would  have  me  "spotted"  as  a  detective 
in  the  revenue  service,  to  run  down  "moonshiners,"  or 
on  the  hunt  for  young  Wentz,  and  in  that  case  I  would 
have  to  use  my  own  judgment  as  to  whether  to  get  out 
of  the  country  or  stand  my  ground.  He  insisted  that 
I  must  not  feel  backward  about  leaving  the  moment 
that  I  realized  my  life  to  be  in  immediate  danger.  But 
I  told  him  that  my  stubborn  phrenology  bump  wouldn't 
allow  me  to  leave  after  I  once  got  in  there. 

I  was  instructed  to  leave  the  number  of  my  watch,  a 
description  of  my  pocket-knife,  key  ring,  pistol  and  the 
prominent  marks  on  my  body,  including  the  fillings  in 
my  teeth,  so  that  my  body  in  case  of  death  could  be 
identified.  I  sent  these  to  the  Philadelphia  office  after 
arriving  on  the  ground,  as  I  had  received  a  reminder 
to  do  so  from  Asst.  Supt.  Eslin,  through  the  mail. 

Before  parting  with  Mr.  Dickenson  he  tried  to  get 
me  to  promise  that  I  would,  after  finishing  this  opera 
tion,  accept  the  position  of  assistant  superintendent  in  one 
of  the  western  offices.  It  caused  a  smile  when  I  told  him 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  399 

that  I  didn't  consider  there  was  much  honor  in  being  an 
assistant  superintendent.  He  replied  that  it  was  necessary 
to  start  as  an  assistant  so  as  to  learn  the  office  work,  be 
fore  becoming  a  superintendent.  He  cited  the  .case  of 
my  friend  W.  O.  Sayles  becoming  superintendent  soon 
after  being  made  an  assistant,  and  he  said  it  was  through 
his  request  that  I  had  been  offered  the  promotion,  ahead 
of  Sayles.  I  finally  told  him  that  the  position  of  opera 
tive  suited  me. 

During  the  day  I  met  Mr.  Jay  Cornbush,  manager  of 
the  Eastern  Division,  and  Supt.  C.  D.  Hornybill,  also 
young  Alman  Dickenson  and  the  many  assistant  superin 
tendents. 

It  was  agreed  by  Mr.  Dickenson  that  I  take  an  early 
morning  train  back  to  Philadelphia,  and  that  when  my 
operation  was  finished  I  could  come  back  and  see  the 
sights  of  New  York  City.  So  bidding  Mr.  Dicken 
son  goodby,  he  turned  me  over  to  operative  G.  J.  H. 
who  had  instructions  to  take  me  to  dinner  or  to  one 
of  the  theaters  or  anywhere  else  that  I  might  want  to  go, 
at  the  agency's  expense. 

A  pleasant  evening  was  spent,  and  after  midnight  a 
ferryboat  landed  me  in  "Jersey"  where  a  train  was 
boarded  for  the  slow  City  of  Brotherly  Love. 

Soon  after  my  return  to  Philadelphia  I  started  for 
Winchester,  Kentucky,  with  about  $400.00  in  my  pocket 
and  a  small  trunk  containing  my  cowboy  boots,  hat,  etc. 
It  had  been  decided  best  that  I  go  into  Letcher  County, 
Kentucky,  which  borders  on  Wise  County,  Virginia, 
where  Edward  Wentz  was  kidnapped,  by  way  of  Jack 
son,  in  Brethitt  county,  Kentucky,  as  if  I  left  the  rail- 


road  in  Wise  county,  Virginia,  where  the  trouble  oc 
curred  I  would  be  suspected  at  once. 

In  the  little  city  of  Winchester  I  put  up  with  Mr. 
Hays,  who  ran  a  hotel.  Here  I  rigged  out  in  my  old 
cowboy  clothes  and  boarded  a  branch  train  for  Jackson, 
the  trunk  with  my  good  clothes  being  left  with  Mr. 
Hays  until  further  orders.  Of  course  Hays  didn't  know 
where  I  was  headed  for. 

I  found  Jackson  to  be  a  drunken  tough  town.  The 
militia  were  just  pulling  out  after  having  been  there  for 
a  long  time,  on  account  of  the  trouble  over  the  assas 
sination  of  lawyer  Marcum,  which  had  ended  in  many 
killings. 

The  next  day  after  my  arrival  in  Jackson,  I  saw  some 
thing  which  convinced  me  that  the  human  race  is  slightly 
mixed  with  the  pig  family  of  animals.  An  old  man  on 
a  mule  started  out  of  town  with  two  jugs  of  whisky 
tied  across  the  back  part  of  his  saddle.  He  hadn't  gone 
but  half  a  block  when  the  string  broke  and  the  jugs 
fell  to  the  ground  and  broke.  The  street  was  quite 
muddy  and  the  whiskey  lay  in  pools  on  the  ground. 
The  old  man  got  down  on  his  knees  and  hands  and  be 
gan  to  drink  from  the  fiery  pools.  Soon  others  came  and 
followed  suit.  They  put  me  in  mind  of  a  drove  of  human 
swine. 

In  Jackson  I  bought  a  mule  and  an  old  light  spring 
wagon.  Then  it  was  two  days  before  I  could  get  the 
mule  shod,  as  all  blacksmiths  in  town  were  drunk.  The 
mule  stood  at  one  shop  all  day  while  a  pair  of  shoes 
were  being  fitted.  In  the  meantime  I  was  taking  in  the 
dives  with  a  young  man  from  Rock  House  Creek,  up  in 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  401 

the  country  where  I  was  going.  On  returning  to  the 
shop  to  get  Mr.  Donkey  I  found  that  the  smith  had  made 
a  mistake  and  put  the  mule  shoes  onto  a  sleepy  old 
grey  horse  tied  to  a  tree  outside  the  shop.  The  feet 
had  been  rasped  down  to  fit  the  shoes.  That  night  my 
mule  got  out  of  his  stable  and  "hit"  the  road  for  "tall 
timber."  Next  morning  I  followed  his  tracks  into  the 
mountains  and  found  him  shut  up  in  a  log  stable  down 
in  a  field.  The  woman  and  boy  didn't  want  to  give  him 
up  until  their  lord  and  master  came  back  from  town, 
but  he  was  taken  back  to  town  just  the  same,  as  I  felt 
sure  they  were  thieves. 

Finally  I  got  started  for  Whitesburg,  the  county  seat 
of  Letcher  county,  about  150  miles  east. 

The  first  day  out  I  was  compelled  to  wait  an  hour 
at  a  narrow  bridge  where  several  wagons  had  the  road 
blocked,  while  the  drivers  were  in  a  saloon  near  by 
drinking.  I  was  told  that  this  was  a  game  the  saloon 
man  played  every  day  to  make  business  for  his  place, 
and  that  it  often  caused  serious  fights. 

My  route  was  up  Lost  Creek  through  mud  up  to  the 
mule's  knees  in  places. 

The  road  was  in  the  bed  of  the  creek  most  of  the 
way,  as  the  small  patches  of  level  land  upon  the  banks 
were  needed  by  the  poverty-stricken  people  for  farming 
purposes.  Even  the  sides  of  steep  mountains  were  used 
for  crops.  This  applies  to  the  whole  mountain  regions 
of  Kentucky,  as  I  found  out  later.  I  soon  discovered 
my  mistake  in  having  started  with  a  vehicle,  but  I  sup 
posed  the  country  was  unsettled  in  places  so  that  I 
would  have  to  camp  out,  On  that  account  camp  outfit 

26 


402  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

and  bedding  had  been  brought  along.  The  whole  coun 
try  is  thickly  settled,  especially  along  the  main  roads 
and  creeks.  Some  days  the  best  I  could  do  was  twelve 
or  fifteen  miles,  owing  to  the  deep  mud  and  large  rocks 
in  the  bed  of  the  creeks. 

Before  reaching  Hazzard,  the  county  seat  of  Perry 
county,  I  found  a  man  by  the  name  of  Pat  N.,  who  was 
a  brother  to  Ashford  N.,  a  "bad"  man  in  Wise  County, 
Virginia,  who  was  suspected  of  having  a  hand  in  the  kid 
napping  of  Ed.  Wentz,  as  he  had  been  seen  near  the 
scene  and  as  it  was  known  that  he  was  a  bitter  enemy 
of  the  Wentz  brothers,  Ed.  and  Dan,  who  had  charge 
of  the  coal  properties  in  that  country.  I  put  up  with 
Pat  N.  until  I  had  secured  a  letter  of  introduction  to 
Ashford  N.  in  Virginia. 

Pat  informed  me  that  his  brother  "Ash"  had  spent 
three  years  in  Texas,  therefore  I  expressed  a  desire  to 
meet  him. 

Pat  N.  kept  a  small  saloon  and  store  with  about  $50.00 
worth  of  goods  on  hand.  He  had  about  eight  children 
and  I  had  to  sleep  with  three  of  the  boys.  The  whole 
family  slept  in  one  little  room  the  size  of  a  Utah  chicken 
house.  So  with  about  eleven  of  us  in  one  room,  the 
purity  of  the  air  can  be  imagined.  This  is  another  kind 
of  a  bitter  pill  that  a  detective  has  to  swallow. 

On  reaching  Hazzard,  which  is  on  the  Kentucky  river, 
I  found  court  in  session,  and  the  little  burg  was  full  of 
drunken  men,  though  no  saloons  were  allowed  to  run 
as  it  is  a  local  option  county. 

I  was  advised  in  Hazzard  by  many  not  to  under 
take  the  trip  alone  over  the  mountains  to  Whitesburg, 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  403 

as  the  road  was  almost  impassable  for  a  vehicle,  and  the 
country  inhabited  by  an  ignorant  and  vicious  people  who 
had  been  known  to  murder  travelers  for  their  money 
and  valuables. 

After  leaving  Hazzard  the  road  led  up  the  Kentucky 
river  for  several  miles  east,  then  turned  to  the  north  up 
a  rocky,  muddy  creek,  and  now  my  misery  began.  The 
higher  up  the  creek  we  got  the  worse  the  road  became, 
and  the  wilder  and  woollier  the  people  appeared. 

The  water  in  the  creek  was  frozen  over,  so  that  in 
following  its  bed  the  mule  and  rig  would  break  through, 
causing  the  air  to  become  impregnated  with  swear-words. 
Ten  miles  of  this  and  "Donk"  and  I  were  ready  for  sup 
per  at  one  of  the  "shacks"  called  houses,  along  the  road. 

My  patience  had  been  tested  between  Jackson  and 
Hazzard  by  the  fool  questions  asked  me  by  every  man, 
woman  and  child  met,  but  it  was  at  the  bursting  point 
before  reaching  Whitesburg,  for  here  even  small  boys 
carrying  pistols  or  squirrel  rifles  would  stop  me  in  the 
road  to  ask  fool  questions.  They  all  started  out  in  the 
same  strain :  "Say  mister,  wha'r  mought  you  be  goin  ?" 
and  "Say  mister,  what  mought  your  name  be?"  A  fool 
girl  about  eighteen  years  old  who  was  wading  in  mud 
up  to  her  ankles,  got  in  the  seat  beside  me  before  she 
asked  any  questions.  I  had  invited  her  to  ride  to  the 
little  store  two  miles  ahead,  where  she  was  going.  After 
getting  on  the  seat  she  turned  her  good-looking  face 
towards  me  and  said:  "Do  you  live  in  these  parts,  mis 
ter?"  I  replied  no,  that  I  lived  in  Texas. 

The  blood  could  be  seen  rushing  into  her  face  after 
it  got  past  the  dirt  around  her  neck.  Most  girls  in  these 


404  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

mountains  keep  the  dirt  washed  from  their  faces,  which 
leaves  a  dark  ring  around  the  neck.  Some  hide  this 
ring  by  wearing  a  high  collar,  but  it's  a  safe  two-to-one 
bet  that  it's  there  just  the  same. 

Here  the  frightened  girl  begged  me  to  stop  the  mule 
and  let  her  out,  which  I  did,  though  I  told  her  that  she 
need  have  no  fear  just  because  I  was  from  Texas. 

The  girl  beat  me  to  the  store  by  a  quarter  of  a  mile. 
Then  the  dozen  or  more  men,  women  and  children  at 
the  store  turned  out  on  the  road  to  see  the  wild  man 
from  Texas,  and  they  wore  me  out  asking  fool  questions. 

This  is  the  part  of  Kentucky  where  preachers  dare  not 
come  on  account  of  the  men  and  boys  getting  drunk  and 
shooting  off  their  guns,  and  mouths,  too. 

In  going  over  the  mountain  I  had  to  hire  two  white 
men  and  a  half-breed  negro  to  help  me,  as  the  road  was 
blocked  with  ice  so  that  we  had  to  climb  the  side  of  a 
steep  hill.  Two  men  had  to  hold  the  vehicle  up  to  keep 
it  from  tumbling  over  the  mountain  cliff,  while  the  other 
man  and  myself  kept  "Donk"  on  his  feet,  and  here 
"Donk"  proved  himself  sure-footed  and  a  stayer. 

Here  a  small  settlement  of  half-breed  negroes  lived. 
A  full-blood  negro  is  a  Curiosity  to  the  natives  of  these 
mountains  of  Kentucky,  though  they  are  plentiful  in 
the  coal  mines  over  the  line  in  Virginia. 

On  driving  down  to  the  Rock  House  Creek,  which  is 
noted  for  "moonshine"  whisky  and  tough  men,  about 
night,  I  found  everything  in  an  uproar.  Most  of  the 
people  were  drunk  and  on  the  warpath.  A  celebration 
had  been  held  in  the  schoolhouse.  The  blood  hadn't 
begun  to  flow  until  nearly  night,  though  the  "moonshine" 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  405 

liquor  had  been  flowing  all  day.  The  row  started  over 
a  man  cutting  a  mule's  tail  off  almost  up  to  his  ears. 
Several  men  were  badly  hurt,  so  it  was  said.  The  fight 
continued  far  into  the  night  at  the  house  where  I  had 
intended  to  stop,  owing  to  it  being  a  tough  place.  As 
a  rule  I  selected  the  toughest  places  to  put  up  at,  but 
this  night  I  was  advised  by  two  men  not  to  stop  at  this 
house  or  I  would  be  killed  before  morning,  on  account 
of  being  a  stranger,  and  this  house  being  the  head 
quarters  for  the  drunken  gang.  So  I  stopped  on  the 
adjoining  farm. 

Next  day  a  severe  snowstorm  was  raging,  and  about 
3  :oo  P.  M.  a  man  who  was  on  his  way  from  Rock  House 
to  Whitesburg  where  he  lived,  gave  me  a  couple  of 
drinks  out  of  his  jug  of  "moonshine"  whisky,  which  he 
had  bought  at  a  still.  He  gave  me  his  name  as  Sol  Hoi- 
comb,  and  invited  me  to  come  and  put  up  with  him  in 
Whitesburg,  as  his  wife  sometimes  kept  private  boarders. 
He  described  the  house  so  that  it  could  be  found  easily. 
After  dark  I  drove  up  to  the  log  mansion  owned  by 
Sol  Holcomb.  Then  I  had  another  drink  out  of  the  same 
jug,  but  now  the  bottom  had  to  be  tipped  high  up  in  the 
air  in  order  to  squeeze  a  drink  out  of  it. 

At  the  supper  table  I  told  Mrs.  Sol  Holcomb,  who  tip 
ped  the  scales  at  250  pounds,  and  her  pretty  twenty  year 
old  daughter  Lizzie,  who  weighed  only  an  even  hundred 
pounds — that  Sol  had  saved  my  life  by  stopping  me  on 
the  road  in  a  blinding  snowstorm  to  let  me  sample  his 
liquor. 

I  didn't  tarry  long  in  Whitesburg,  but  continued  on 
up  the  Kentucky  river,  eighteen  miles  to  Craftsville, 


406  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

where  I  had  had  some  "fake"  letters  sent  from  Galves- 
ton,  Texas,  by  my  cousin,  Miss  Jeanette  McKay. 

In  Philadelphia  we  had  selected  Craftsville  post  office 
as  a  good  point  for  me  to  head  for,  as  it  was  in  the 
heart  of  the  tough  district  where  the  Potter-Wright 
feud  has  been  going  on  for  years,  until  nearly  all  the 
male  members  of  both  parties  had  been  killed. 

On  reaching  Craftsville  I  was  somewhat  surprised, 
for  I  expected  to  find  a  little  town  or  one  store  at  least. 
There  was  nothing  here  but  old  widow  Bee  Craft's 
house  and  farm,  and  the  young  wife  of  old  lady  Bee 
Craft's  son  Tom  was  the  "whole  cheese"  in  handling 
Uncle  Samuel's  mail.  Once  a  week  she  would  have  to 
strain  her  nerves  in  going  over  about  one  dozen  letters 
and  a  few  dozen  papers,  mostly  Fireside  Companions 
from  Portland,  Maine.  The  mail  sack  would  be  dumped 
out  on  the  floor  and  sorted  over  there.  All  mail  ad 
dressed  to  Craftsville  would  be  put  in  the  garret  until 
some  one  called  for  it. 

The  next  day  was  Christmas  eve,  and  "Nels"  Craft, 
a  son  of  the  widow  Bee  Craft,  came  from  his  place  half 
a  mile  below  on  the  river,  to  find  out  who  wanted  to 
send  for  Xmas  "moonshine/'  as  he  was  going  to  a  still 
that  day.  Tom  Craft  and  I  both  sent  for  a  supply.  That 
night  we  all,  including  the  old  lady  and  her  adopted 
daughter  Miss  Lou,  rode  down  to  "Nels'  "  place  to  eat 
supper  and  drink  "moonshine."  "Nels"  and  his  brother- 
in-law,  Tilden  Wright,  had  returned  from  the  still  with 
the  liquor. 

On  the  way  home  after  midnight  Tom  Craft  made 
the  air  ring  with  his  shouts  and  yelling.  He  was  loaded 


EMMA  S.,  "DONK"  AND  THE  AUTHOR. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  407 

with  "moonshine"  inside  and  out.  Miss  Lou  rode  be 
hind  me  on  "Donk"  and  helped  to  hold  me  on,  as  I  was 
a  little  bit  loaded  myself,  though  my  early  training  in 
Texas  prevented  me  from  yelling  in  the  presence  of 
ladies.  The  cowboy  "Comanche  yells"  were  almost 
choking  me  though,  in  their  eagerness  to  escape,  but  by 
force  of  will-power  they  were  held  back. 

Next  morning  was  Christmas,  and  young  Wiley  Craft 
rode  down  from  his  father's  place  half  a  mile  above, 
to  tell  me  that  he  had  caught  the  fat  'possum  for  which 
I  had  offered  a  reward  of  fifty  cents  the  day  before. 

On  the  previous  day  I  had  gone  up  to  John  Craft's 
with  Tom  to  see  the  pretty  girl  from  Donkey,  Virginia, 
who  had  just  arrived  with  her  father  "Doc."  They 
were  taking  tin-type  photos  and  canvassing  for  a  life 
insurance  company  in  Detroit,  Michigan.  This  seventeen 
year  old  girl,  Emma,  was  certainly  a  "peach,"  when  it 
came  to  the  bloom  of  youth  and  beauty  painted  on  her 
cheeks. 

In  Philadelphia,  Donkey,  Va.,  had  been  given  to  me  -as 
the  toughest  little  spot  on  earth,  and  a  likely  place  to 
get  some  information  about  young  Wentz.  Therefore 
I  concluded  to  fall  in  love  with  Emma,  even  though 
I  was  old  enough  to  be  her  father,  so  as  to  have  an 
excuse  for  visiting  Donkey,  Va. 

The  'possum  was  part  of  the  scheme.  I  returned  with 
Wiley  Craft  to  see  Mr.  'possum  and  have  Emma  take 
his  picture  before  I  got  on  the  outside  of  him,  for  Mrs. 
John  Craft  had  agreed  if  one  was  caught,  to  cook  him 
with  sweet  potatoes  for  my  Christmas  supper. 

I  found  the  opossum  to  be  young  and  fat.  His  picture 
was  "took"  and  he  then  went  into  the  pot. 


408  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Miss  Lou  had  gone  up  to  John  Craft's  early  in  the 
day  with  her  sweetheart,  Bennie,  who  had  a  bad  case  of 
lovesickness,  to  join  the  crowd  of  young  folks  who  had 
congregated  there. 

After  helping  Mrs.  Craft  put  the  'possum  into  the  pot 
I  went  into  the  large  front  room  to  drink  "moonshine" 
with  "Doc,"  John  Craft  and  others,  and  to  watch  the 
young  folks  play  a  new  kind  of  a  kissing  game. 

A  large  number  of  couples  would  form  a  circle  by 
holding  each  other's  hands.  This  circle  of  young  men 
and  women  would  revolve  round  and  round  until  one 
of  their  number  snapped  his  or  her  fingers  at  some  one  in 
the  audience.  Then  the  one  snapped  at  would  jump  up 
and  catch  the  snapper  and  by  force  kiss  him  or  her.  I 
noticed  that  the  kissing  was  always  on  the  cheek,  and 
when  Miss  Lou  snapped  at  me,  while  I  was  talking  to 
"Doc"  about  "Donkey"  town,  I  warned  her  not  to  do  it 
again,  if  she  did  it  would  wind  up  in  a  western  kiss 
which  is  generally  planted  where  it  will  do  the  most 
good.  I  also  told  her  that  I  was  a  little  too  old  to  get 
into  their  game,  although  this  was  a  lie,  as  at  that  very 
moment  I  was  dying  to  get  into  the  game  just  long 
enough  to  kiss  Emma  once,  and  thereby  lengthen  my 
life  about  five  years. 

In  passing,  Lou  snapped  at  me  again,  and  the  tussle 
began.  I  went  at  it  in  a  systematic  manner  and  w.hen 
her  head  rested  on  my  left  arm  and  her  face  was  turned 
up  towards  the  ceiling,  the  kiss  was  planted  on  her  lips 
where  it  did  the  most  good,  to  one  poor  sinner  at  least. 
Then  I  had  to  get  inside  the  ring  and  choose  a  girl  from 
the  circle.  Of  course  Emma  was  the  victim  and  it  was 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  409 

soon  over,  as  sweet  things  seldom  last  long,  at  least 
not  long  enough. 

As  Mrs.  Bee  Craft  and  Tom's  wife  were  getting  up 
a  fine  turkey  dinner,  I  had  promised  to  be  back  there  at 
noon.  I  felt  sure  of  finding  a  drunken  crowd  there  on 
my  return,  as  they  had  begun  to  arrive  before  I  left. 

On  getting  "Donk"  to  start,  Lou  insisted  on  riding 
behind  me  in  spite  of  the  protests  from  her  lover  Bennie. 
I  tried  to  persuade  her  to  let  Bennie  take  her  home,  as 
he  had  brought  her,  but  she  wouldn't  have  it  that  way, 
so  there  was  nothing  for  me  to  do  but  be  "blooded"  and 
take  the  chances  of  an  assassin's  bullet  later. 

On  reaching  home  the  mule  was  put  into  the  stable 
and  fed,  after  Lou  had  been  helped  off  at  the  front  gate. 

Loud  swearing  could  be  heard  in  the  house,  which 
showed  that  the  "moonshine"  was  getting  in  its  work. 

On  stepping  onto  the  porch,  Tilden  Wright,  one  of 
the  noted  feudists  whose  father  and  older  brothers  had 
lately  been  killed  by  the  Potter  gang,  came  out  of  the 
dining  room  and  met  me  face  to  face.  With  his  right 
hand  resting  on  the  handle  of  the  large  pistol  strapped 
to  his  waist,  he  said  in  an  angry  and  insulting  voice: 

"Say,  Lloyd,  how  would  you  like  to  have  your brains 

scattered  all  over  this  floor?" 

I  knew  there  was  war  in  the  air  from  the  way  Mrs. 
Tom  Craft,  who  had  followed  Wright  out  of  the  dining 
room,  looked.  She  was  pale  and  trembling.  Therefore 
my  hand  went  up  to  my  breast  to  the  shirt  front  which 
was  open,  before  answering.  Then  looking  Wright  in 
the  eyes  with  a  good  natured  smile  I  said :  "Why,  Tilden, 
it  wouldn't  feel  very  nice  to  have  my  brains  scattered  on 


410  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

the  floor,  and  besides  it  would  cause  a  lot  of  extra  work 
to  clean  them  up." 

Then  I  asked  the  cause  of  his  anger  and  found  it  to 
be  the  Virginia  girl,  Emma,  whom  he  said  I  was  acting 
a  fool  over,  when  there  were  prettier  girls  in  Kentucky 
than  she ;  that  his  sister-in-law,  Miss  Victoria  Craft,  was 
a  prettier  girl  than  Emma.  I  asked  him  why  he  didn't 
trot  out  Miss  Victoria  so  I  could  get  a  look  at  her  and 
decide  the  matter  for  myself.  He  replied:  "Why  damn 
it,  you  saw  her  last  night  at  Nels'  party,"  I  told  him  he 
was  mistaken  as  Victoria's  mother  was  sick  so  that  she 
couldn't  attend  the  party  at  "Nels'."  He  studied  a  mo 
ment  and  replied:  "That's  so,  her  mother  was  sick  last 
night.  I'll  bring  her  up  tomorrow  and  you'll  say  she's 
a  prettier  girl  than  Emma." 

Then  Wright  took  his  hand  from  the  pistol  and  started 
staggering  into  the  large  front  room  where  the  gang 
were. 

Had  Wright  pulled  his  pistol  he  would  have  been  sur 
prised  when  old  Colts  45  came  out  from  under  my  left 
arm  where  it  was  concealed  in  a  "Wess  Harding" 
shoulder  scabbard.  The  day  being  warm,  I  was  in  my 
shirt-sleeves,  hence  he  could  see  no  pistol  and  thought 
me  unarmed.  My  shirt  was  kept  unbuttoned  from  the 
collar  down,  in  order  that  my  hand  could  reach  the  pis 
tol  quickly.  At  nights  I  slept  with  it  under  my  arm. 

On  going  into  the  dining  room  I  found  a  crowd  of 
strangers  eating  at  the  table.  Most  of  them  were  drunk 
and  noisy,  and  eyed  me  with  suspicion  as  the  old  lady 
seated  me  at  a  vacant  place. 

"Mose"  Craft  who  owned  a  "moonshine"  still,  and  who 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  411 

had  run  "moonshine"  stills  all  his  life,  was  at  the  table 
eating,  while  two  men  kept  him  in  his  seat  as  he  wanted 
to  go  into  the  other  room  to  renew  the  fight  with  "Nels" 
Craft,  his  cousin.  "Nels"  was  being  held  by  other  men 
in  the  front  room.  Broken  dishes  and  blood  were  scat 
tered  over  the  dining  room  floor.  The  fight  had  been  a 
fierce  one;  and  others  besides  the  cousins  had  taken  a 
hand.  Pistols  and  knives  had  not  been  used  owing  to 
the  efforts  of  the  women  folks  and  old  man  Joe  Craft, 
who  was  quite  sober  and  acted  as  peace-maker. 

On  finishing  my  dinner  I  concluded  not  to  go  into 
the  front  room  where  the  drunken  mob  were,  but  to 
"hike"  back  to  Emma  and  the  'possum  and  sweet  'taters. 

I  was  just  leading  "Donk"  out  of  the  stable,  which 
was  a  hundred  yards  from  the  residence  at  the  foot  of 
a  mountain,  when  I  heard  Tilden  Wright  calling :  "Lloyd, 

you  where  are  you?"  Then  looking  towards  the 

house  I  saw  Tilden  Wright  and  "Mose"  Craft  searching 
for  me.  They  staggered  around  back  of  the  house  and 
when  out  of  sight  I  led  the  mule  back  of  the  stable  and 
let  down  a  rail  fence.  When  inside  the  pasture  the 
fence  was  put  back  in  place.  Then  "Donk"  was  mounted 
and  a  run  made  up  a  small  gulch,  thence  a  short  climb 
up  the  mountain  side  to  a  thicket  of  timber  and  brush. 
Here  I  dismounted  and  lay  down  to  watch  developments. 
I  was  high  up  above  the  house  and  could  see  Wright 
and  Craft  searching  for  me.  When  they  searched  the 
stable  and  found  my  mule  gone,  they  began  calling  me 
all  kinds  of  names.  Then  they  began  shooting  down 
the  timbered  lane  through  which  I  was  supposed  to  have 
gone.  They  then  went  to  the  house  and  I  had  a  good 


412  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

laugh  all  by(  my  lone  self,  at  the  way  they  had  been  fooled. 
Had  they  found  me  the  chances  are  it  would  have  ended 
in  bloodshed,  for  later  "Mose"  Craft,  who  is  a  fine  fellow 
when  sober,  apologized  to  me  and  said  they  had  got  it 
into  their  heads  that  I  was  a  spy  from  the  revenue  office 
in  search  of  "moonshiners,"  hence  he  and  Tilden  trying 
to  find  me  to  raise  a  "racket." 

A  climb  over  the  mountain  and  the  letting  down  of 
two  more  rail  fences  and  the  fording  of  the  Kentucky 
river,  brought  me  to  John  Craft's  where  I  joined  the 
lively  crowd  and  had  my  nerves  quieted  with  a  few 
more  young  kisses.  This  time  one  of  John  Craft's  daugh 
ters  started  the  ball  to  rolling  by  "snapping"  her  fingers 
at  me.  She  wanted  no  doubt,  to  try  the  experiment  of  a 
western  scientific  kiss. 

During  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  Joe  Craft  and 
four  other  men  brought  "Mose"  Craft  and  his  fighting 
"jag"  up  to  our  place  so  as  to  get  him  away  from  "Nels." 
They  had  been  fighting  again. 

Here  I  received  some  new  lessons  in  human  nature, 
which  differed  from  anything  which  I  had  ever  seen 
before. 

The  house  was  full  of  young  ladies,  and  some  who 
were  not  so  young.  "Mose"  Craft  stepped  into  the  door 
and  opened  up  with  the  most  vulgar  language  that  the 
human  tongue  is  capable  of  uttering,  and  he  topped  it 
off  with  a  vulgar  song.  In  my  native  state,  he  would 
have  been  filled  so  full  of  lead  by  angry  fathers,  brothers, 
and  sweethearts,  that  it  would  have  required  an  extra 
team  to  have  hauled  his  body  to  the  graveyard.  The 
girls  and  women  all  ran  to  the  kitchen  as  soon  as  pos- 


VICTORIA  CRAFT. 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  413 

sible.  Mrs.  John  Craft  soon  had  "Mose"  in  bed  and 
asleep. 

Gee,  but  I  did  enjoy  that  'possum  and  the  sweet 
potatoes. 

I  returned  to  Mrs.  Bee  Craft's  late  at  night  and 
found  the  old  lady  and  Miss  Lou  sitting  by  the  kitchen 
fireplace.  The  balance  were  in  bed  or  had  left  for  their 
homes. 

Mrs.  Bee  Craft  had  drunk  her  share  of  the  "moon 
shine,"  hence  she  was  in  a  talkative  mood.  She  told  me 
all  about  her  oldest  son,  who  is  now  married  and  living 
a  peaceful  life  in  another  part  of  the  state,  having  lived 
an  outlaw  life  for  years  in  these  mountains,  on  account 
of  killing  revenue  officers  who  were  trying  to  stamp  out 
"moonshining ;"  and  of  how  her  husband  was  burned  to 
death  while  drunk  in  the  house  of  two  "bad"  women. 

In  speaking  of  her  enemies,  the  old  lady  used  language 
which  caused  me  to  blush  on  acount  of  Miss  Lou,  who 
was  present.  But  Lou  didn't  seem  to  mind  it,  so  from 
that  time  on  while  in  these  mountains,  I  did  not  waste 
any  more  blushes. 

Old  Lady  Bee  Craft  turned  out  to  be,  in  my  estima 
tion  the  most  honest  and  motherly  woman  in  this  moun 
tain  region.  I  had  a  chance  to  learn  her  true  nature. 

The  next  day  Miss  Victoria,  Tilden  Wright's  sister-in- 
law,  came  to  the  widow  Bee  Craft's,  and  I  took  her  and 
Lou  up  to  John  Craft's  and  had  their  pictures  "took." 

Miss  Victoria  was  a  nice,  good-looking  girl,  but  as 
a  beauty  she  couldn't  travel  in  the  same  class  with  Miss 
Emma. 

A  couple  of  days  later  I  bade  the  Crafts  goodby  for 


414  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

the  time  being,  and  started  for  Whitesburg  in  my  spring 
wagon.  Tom  Craft  advised  me  not  to  start  as  the  river 
was  frozen  over  at  two  of  the  bad  crossings,  and  if  the 
mule  and  rig  broke  through  the  ice  I  couldn't  get  them 
back  onto  the  ice,  as  the  water  was  belly-deep  to  a  horse. 
In  the  eighteen  miles  to  Whitesburg  the  river  had  to  be 
crossed  about  a  dozen  times.  I  thanked  Tom  for  his 
advice,  but  told  him  that  out  west  we  never  crossed  a 
bridge  till  we  got  to  it,  and  then  if  the  bridge  was  gone, 
we  crossed  anyway. 

At  one  of  the  crossings  my  mule  and  wagon  broke 
through  in  deep  water,  and  I  scared  "Donk"  by  yelling 
and  whipping  so  that  he  split  the  ice  wide  open.  He 
would  make  a  jump  up  on  the  ice,  and  then  when  it 
broke  through,  he  would  try,  try  again.  Finally  he  was 
on  the  run,  splashing  water  all  over  me  until  I  was  as 
wet  as  a  drowned  rat.  Once  he  slipped  on  the  ice  and 
went  down  into  the  water  on  his  side,  but  he  came  up 
running. 

Soon  after  this,  we  passed  Monroe  W.'s  house  by  the 
side  of  the  road,  and  being  wet,  I  concluded  to  make 
an  effort  to  stay  all  night.  I  wanted  to  make  Monroe's 
acquaintance  anyway,  as  he  was  one  of  Wentz's  bitterest 
enemies  and  suspected  of  having  a  hand  in  kidnapping 
young  Wentz.  He  had  been  in  the  "moonshine"  liquor 
business  all  his  life  and  was  considered  a  king-bee  among 
the  "moonshiners." 

The  hired  man  informed  me  that  Monroe  W.  was 
down  in  a  pasture  after  some  cattle,  and  wouldn't  be 
back  for  an  hour.  He  also  informed  me  that  Monroe 
W.  was  not  in  the  habit  of  taking  strangers  in  to  put  up 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  415 

all  night.  This  I  took  as  a  hint  that  I  had  better  be 
going  on  as  it  was  late  in  the  evening. 

Just  about  dark,  after  I  had  started  up  a  steep  grade 
to  go  over  a  high  ridge  into  Whitesburg  which  lay  two 
miles  further  down  the  river,  a  250  pound  piece  of 
middle-age  humanity  rode  up  behind  me  on  a  large  bay 
horse  and  commanded  me  to  stop.  I  did  so,  then  he 
rode  up  by  the  side  of  the  wagon  and  in  an  angry  voice 
asked:  "What  in  the  h — 1  are  you  doing  in  this  coun 
try?"  I  told  him  that  we  were  going  to  Whitesburg, 
providing  the  Lord  was  willing  and  the  mule  held  out. 
He  replied: 

"We  don't  want  your  kind  of  people  in  this  country, 
so  you  had  better  hit  the  road  and  go  back  where  you 
came  from,  and  you  want  to  go  d — d  quick,  too.  You 
will  be  lucky  if  you  get  back." 

I  asked  why  they  didn't  want  me  here.     He  replied: 

"You  are  a  d — d  detective  that's  why."  I  asked  what 
a  detective  would  be  doing  in  such  a  country  as  this. 
He  replied:  "That's  all  right,  we've  had  your  kind  of 
people  here  before,  spying  around  to  catch  moonshiners. 
You  had  better  turn  that  mule  around  and  hit  the  road 
back  if  you  know  what's  good  for  you." 

Here  I  looked  back  down  the  road  and  saw  two  men  on 
horseback  coming  in  a  slow  walk.  They  were  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  away,  at  a  turn  in  the  road.  I  concluded  that 
they  were  into  this  scheme  to  run  me  out  of  the  country, 
so  I  started  to  get  mad  and  my  stubborn  bump  began  to 
work. 

The  mule  was  started  ahead,  and  I  told  the  big  moun 
taineer  that  I  was  going  to  Whitesburg  in  spite  of  h— 1 


416  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

and  highwater.  He  replied:  "Well  by  God  if  you  do, 
you  and  your  d — d  outfit  will  go  into  the  river." 

Here  I  became  mad  "proper,"  and  said:  "You  cut 
throats  may  shoot  me  from  behind  a  tree  up  on  the 
mountain  side,  which  I  am  told  is  your  favorite  way  to 
assassinate  people,  but  you  can't  scare  me.  I'm  going  to 
Whitesburg,  so  turn  your  wolf  loose. 

He  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and  started  up  the  steep 
grade  on  a  trot  ahead  of  me  saying:  "Well  by  God  if 
you  do,  I'll  have  you  thrown  in  jail  till  we  can  investi 
gate  you." 

I  hallooed  back :  "All  right,  you'll  find  me  at  Sol  Hoi- 
comb's"  At  this  he  jerked  his  horse  up  and  said :  "What 
in  the  h — 1  do  you  know  about  Sol  Holcomb  ?  You  have 
never  been  in  Whitesburg!"  I  replied:  "The  d — 1  I 
havn't;  I  just  left  Whitesburg  two  days  before  Christ 
mas." 

He  then  started  off  again,  saying:  "All  right,  I'll  just 
have  you  thrown  in  jail  anyhow." 

As  it  soon  became  dark,  I  lost  sight  of  Monroe  W.  and 
the  two  men  following  behind. 

It  was  plain  to  my  mind  now,  that  this  big  man  who 
proved  to  be  Monroe  W.  had  never  heard  of  me  being 
in  the  country,  and  when  his  hired  man  described  me 
and  told  him  I  wanted  to  stay  all  night  at  his  place  he 
concluded  that  I  had  just  come  from  Virginia,  from 
whence  they  had  been  looking  for  detectives.  And  a 
month  later,  after  I  had  become  "solid"  with  his  mother- 
in-law,  Lottie  H.,  I  found  out  that  my  guess  was  right, 
for  she  said  that  Monroe  W.  thought  I  was  a  detective 
sent  from  Virginia  to  work  on  the  Wentz  case,  but  that 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  417 

when  he  found  out  I  had  already  been  to  Whitesburg 
and  had  driven  overland  from  Jackson,  Ky.,  he  tried  to 
pass  it  off  as  a  joke  as  though  he  just  wanted  to  frighten 
me. 

It  was  over  an  hour  after  dark  when  I  drove  into 
Whitesburg,  and  when  I  went  into  the  little  "shack"  of 
a  post  office,  Monroe  W.  and  a  man  whom  I  later  found 
was  one  of  his  chums,  were  there  ahead  of  me. 

I  asked  for  my  mail  and  a  letter  was  handed  out. 
It  was  just  the  one  I  wanted,  and  I  knew  no  others 
would  come  at  that  time.  Just  as  I  received  the  letter 
Monroe  W.  stepped  up  and  asked  to  see  the  post-mark 
on  it.  I  replied,  certainly,  if  it  would  do  him  any  good ; 
so  the  letter  was  handed  to  him.  He  then  took  it  to  an 
oil  lamp  in  one  corner  where  he  and  his  chum  examined 
the  post-mark  which  was  Galveston,  Texas.  This  was 
one  of  the  "fake"  letters  which  my  cousin  Jeanette 
McKay  had  copied  from  one  I  sent  her.  Later,  after  I 
had  taken  Monroe  W.  into  my  confidence,  I  let  him 
read  the  contents  of  this  "fake"  letter. 

Had  I  not  mentioned  the  name  of  Sol  Holcomb,  show 
ing  that  I  had  been  in  Whitesburg  before,  there  is  no 
telling  what  might  have  happened,  for  if  the  two  riders 
seen  following  behind  were  into  the  play  they  could 
have  taken  a  cut-off  bridlepath  after  getting  over  the 
high  ridge,  and  have  joined  Monroe  W.  without  my 
seeing  them.  Then  if  so  disposed,  they  could  have  way 
laid  me  and  thrown  my  body  and  the  outfit  into  the  river, 
far  below  to  the  left. 

Thus  did  Christmas  of  1903  pass  into  oblivion,  along 
with  the  one  spent  on  the  L  X  ranch  with  Hollicott  and 
his  demijohn, 

27 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A  HURRAH  LIFE  AMONG  THE  "MOONSHINERS" — I  ES 
CAPE  POSSIBLE  DEATH  BY  A  SCRATCH — THE  BODY  OF 
ED.  WENTZ  FOUND. 

After  becoming  settled  in  Whitesburg  at  the  Holcomb 
log  mansion  on  the  main  street,  I  began  to  study  the  peo 
ple.  I  found  that  those  living  in  town  were  an  improve 
ment  over  those  of  the  country. 

My  spring  wagon  was  discarded  never  to  be  used  again 
by  me.  It  was  put  under  a  shed  for  Mrs.  Holcomb's 
chickens  to  roost  on.  I  concluded  to  stick  to  the  hurri 
cane  deck  of  a  mule  or  horse  in  future. 

On  making  inquiry  I  found  that  Ashford  N.,  whose 
brother  lived  on  Lost  Creek,  was  in  the  Whitesburg  jail 
serving  out  a  six  months'  sentence,  by  order  of  the  much 
hated  Republican  District  Judge  Morse,  who  tries  to  en 
force  the  laws.  "Ash"  had  been  convicted  of  selling  liquor 
in  this  prohibition  county  of  Letcher,  Kentucky.  At  the 
jail  through  the  steel  bars,  my  letter  of  introduction  from 
his  brother  Pat  was  presented,  and  we  became  fast 
friends.  He  let  me  read  his  love  letters  and  I  furnished 
the  "moonshine"  to  revive  his  drooping  spirits. 

Ashford  N.  had  lived  three  years  in  Greer  County, 
Texas,  now  part  of  Oklahoma;  and  I  happened  to  be 
acquainted  in  that  country  which  cemented  our  friend 
ship. 

The  jail  was  filled  with  men,  the  worst  looking  and 

418 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  419 

most  confident  one  being  Shepard,  who  murdered  a 
man  in  cold  blood,  at  the  same  time  wounding  a  woman 
and  baby,  on  Big  Cowen  Creek,  a  few  miles  south  of 
Crafts ville,  on  Christmas  day,  just  past.  He  had  shot 
the  man,  Riley  Webb,  while  he  was  warming  his  hands 
at  a  fireplace.  Still  he  was  confident  of  coming  clear  at 
his  trial,  as  he  had  given  Attorney  Dan  D.  Field  a  horse 
to  defend  him. 

After  becoming  acquainted  with  the  situation  as  exist 
ing  in  Letcher  County,  I  could  see  good  grounds  for 
Shepard's  confidence  in  acquittal,  for  Mr.  Field  is  a 
bright  lawyer  and  is  related  by  blood  or  marriage  with 
nearly  every  one  in  the  county.  Besides,  whisky  is 
cheap.  I  myself  with  a  pint  flask  of  "moonshine"  «as  a 
weapon,  faced  a  dignified  Democratic  judge  and  had  a 
shooting  scrape  virtually  annulled.  I  showed  good  judg 
ment  though,  by  presenting  the  flask  of  liquor  before 
stating  my  case,  and  I  assured  this  acting  district  judge 
that  my  intention  was  not  to  bribe  him  with  this  flask  of 
corn  juice,  which  was  an  open  lie  that  could  be  seen  by 
a  less  learned  man  than  this  Honorable  Court. 

I  did  the  job  to  save  Birdie  H's  sweetheart  a  trip  to 
the  penitentiary. 

I  made  frequent  trips  to  Collins'  still  in  Knott  County, 
on  the  head  of  Rock  House  creek,  after  liquor  for  my 
self  and  friends. 

I  knew  the  date  when  "Doc"  and  his  daughter  Emma 
were  to  be  at  Collins'  still  to  take  pictures,  so  my  plans 
were  arranged  accordingly. 

On  that  date  "Donk"  and  I  marched  up  to  the  Collins 
residence  with  two  empty  jugs  to  be  filled,  one  for  my- 


420  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

self  and  the  other  for  Ashford  N.  who  had  sent  the  cash 
to  pay  for  his  gallon  of  firewater.  Miss  Emma  greeted 
us  at  the  gate,  and  my  spirits  soared  upwards.  We  had 
come  twelve  miles  over  a  rough  mountain.  I  made  pre 
tense  of  having  to  hurry  back,  but  Emma  and  her  father 
insisted  on  my  remaining  all  night.  So  "Donk"  was  put 
into  the  stable  and  the  good  time  commenced. 

We  first  emptied  "Doc's"  bottle  of  corn  juice;  then  I 
bought  a  full  one  for  "Doc"  and  me,  and  another  of 
apple  brandy  for  Emma. 

The  woods  were  full  of  rough  looking  people  who 
came  to  get  liquor  and  to  have  their  pictures  "took." 

After  supper  "Doc,"  Emma  and  I  had  the  front  room 
all  to  ourselves.  We  had  started  in  for  the  night  with 
two  full  bottles.  Toward  bedtime  I  began  to  feel  the 
effects  of  the  corn  juice,  and  on  the  spur  of  the  moment 
did  a  foolish  trick,  which  ended  all  right,  though. 

"Doc"  suggested  that  I  take  out  a  policy  in  his  insur 
ance  company  for  $1000.  I  told  him  that  I  had  left 
Texas  suddenly,  under  a  cloud,  therefore  didn't  dare  to 
have  my  life  insured  in  favor  of  any  of  my  relatives 
there;  my  idea  being  to  give  the  impression  that  I  had 
committed  a  crime  in  Texas  and  had  to  skip  out.  Then 
"Doc"  asked  if  I  didn't  have  a  relative  or  friend  outside 
of  that  state  who  would  appreciate  $1000  in  case  of  my 
death.  I  answered  "No."  Here  Emma  with  one  of 
her  sweet  innocent  smiles,  asked  me  to  have  the  policy 
made  out  in  her  name. 

I  was  never  known  to  be  a  "piker,"  or  to  show  that  I 
was  not  a  "dead  game  sport"  when  it  comes  to  dealing 
with  pretty  girls,  so  consent  was  given  and  the  policy 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  421 

was  made  out  with  Emma  as  the  holder  of  the  stakes  in 
case  I  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil. 

The  danger  soon  flashed  across  my  addled  brain  that 
when  I  visited  the  tough  town  of  Donkey,  Virginia,  I 
might  be  considered  worth  more  to  Emma  dead  than 
alive.  Still,  I  was  too  "blooded"  to  "crawfish"  now,  at 
the  commencement  of  the  game. 

There  was  one  redeeming  feature  in  the  transaction, 
it  was  an  accident  policy,  so  that  if  they  tried  to  kill  me 
and  failed,  I  would  get  paid  for  the  wounds,  myself. 
The  premiums  were  paid  up  for  two  months. 

About  midnight  "Doc"  and  I  retired  in  the  broad- 
gauge  bedstead,  while  Emma  occupied  the  narrow  gauge 
one  near  our  feet.  "Doc"  slept  next  to  the  wall,  so  I 
acted  as  barkeeper,  the  full  quart  bottle  being  on  a  chair 
near  my  head. 

I  had  just  fallen  asleep,  when  "Doc"  dug  me  in  the 
ribs  saying  "Lloyd  are  you  asleep?  If  you  ain't,  hand 
over  that  bottle."  Then  we  both  took  a  drink.  Soon 
sleep  began  to  creep  over  me,  but  for  fear  of  being  awak 
ened  again,  I  thought  it  best  to  give  "Doc"  another  drink 
in  hopes  of  filling  him  up.  But  I  didn't  know  then  that 
trying  to  fill  "Doc"  up  would  be  like  pouring  sand  in  a 
rat  hole  with  the  other  end  in  China.  The  bottle  was 
emptied  just  as  day  was  breaking,  then  we  both  got  our 
first  good  sleep. 

When  breakfast  was  called  I  got  up  feeling  good — 
no  sign  of  headache  which  follows  the  free  use  of 
liquor,  not  pure. 

It  was  agreed  that  I  join  "Doc"  and  his  daughter  at 
John  Craft's  and  accompany  them  home  to  Virginia. 


422  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Before  leaving  with  my  full  jugs  for  Whitesburg,  I 
gave  Emma  a  quart  bottle  of  apple  brandy  to  keep  up 
her  spirits  on  the  way  home. 

Arriving  in  Whitesburg  I  made  preparation  to  start 
next  morning  for  Craftsville. 

The  Holcombs  and  other  friends  begged  me  not  to 
risk  a  visit  to  the  head  of  the  Kentucky  river  in  the 
Potter  neighborhood  and  to  the  tough  town  of  Donkey, 
Virginia.  They  cited  countless  cases  of  murders  and 
robberies  committed  in  those  places.  Miss  Lizzie  Hoi- 
comb  especially  pleaded  with  me  not  to  go.  She  and  I 
had  become  a  little  "sweet"  on  each  other,  though  we 
did  our  courting  on  the  sly,  as  I  told  her  that  she  was 
too  nice  to  be  seen  at  public  gatherings  and  out  riding 
with  me,  as  I  hadn't  finished  sowing  my  wild  oats,  and 
that  I  might  be  seen  at  any  time  drunk  and  in  company 
with  bad  women,  which  would  be  a  reflection  on  her 
character  if  she  kept  company  with  me. 

The  poor  innocent  girl  couldn't  understand  why  a  man 
of  my  age  and  apparent  intelligence  should  want  to 
scatter  wild  oats  over  the  country.  Miss  Lizzie  was  a 
pure  Christian  girl,  and  she  had  never  had  her  eye 
teeth  cut  in  the  ways  of  the  world.  She  tried  hard  to 
reform  me,  but  the  more  she  preached  reform,  the  worse 
I  seemed  to  get.  Of  course  it  pained  me  to  act  against 
my  conscience  in  this  way,  but  it  was  "business."  I 
had  started  out  to  graduate  in  the  big  Dickenson  College, 
therefore  I  didn't  propose  to  be  branded  as  a  "quitter," 
just  for  the  sake  of  upholding  goodness  and  purity. 

That  night  the  county  jailer,  Boney  Isum,  a  nice  fel 
low,  who  had  won  his  spurs  and  been  elected  county 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  423 

jailer  through  the  fact  of  having  recently  killed  a  U.  S. 
revenue  officer  near  Whitesburg,  brought  Ashford  N. 
from  the  jail  to  my  room  at  Holcomb's,  and  with  the  as 
sistance  of  the  two  jugs  of  liquor  we  made  "Rome 
howl"  until  the  roosters  crowed  for  day.  Boney  Isum 
loved  liquor,  and  he  was  a  good  judge  of  its  purity,  as 
he  and  his  forefathers  before  him  had  conducted  "moon 
shine"  stills  in  the  face  of  Uncle  Sam  and  his  standing 
army. 

During  the  early  part  of  the  evening,  Sol  Holcomb 
spent  his  time  in  my  room  with  Boney,  Ashford  and  me, 
and  in  order  to  be  in  the  "swim,"  Mrs.  Holcomb,  Lizzie, 
the  little  girl  Alberta,  and  the  fifteen-year-old  boy 
Andrew,  drank  what  they  called  "stugh,"  made  of 
whisky,  sugar  and  hot  water. 

Next  morning  with  two  quarts  of  liquor  in  my  saddle 
pockets,  I  started  for  Craftsville,  where  the  night  was 
spent  with  the  widow  Bee  Craft  and  her  family. 

Early  next  day  I  joined  "Doc"  S.  and  his  pretty 
daughter  at  John  Craft's,  and  we  started  up  the  river 
for  Donkey,  Va. 

The  girl  rode  behind  her  father  on  the  large  white 
horse.  I  carried  the  photo  outfit  on  "Donk." 

We  passed  through  the  noted  Potter  settlement  and 
put  up  for  the  night  at  Bentleys. 

During  the  forenoon  next  day,  some  pictures  were 
"took"  as  per  advertised  schedule;  that  is,  advertised  by 
word  of  mouth,  as  there  were  no  newspapers  in  the 
county. 

After  dinner  we  left  the  extreme  head  of  the  Kentucky 
river  and  began  to  climb  up  the  western  slope  of  the 


424  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Black  Mountain  range,  the  top  of  which  is  the  divid 
ing  line  between  Kentucky  and  Virginia.  On  reaching 
the  highest  point  of  the  range,  "Doc"  pointed  out  the 
lay  of  the  country.  From  this  black  mountain  of  the 
great  Cumberland  range,  flow  four  large  rivers,  the 
Kentucky  to  the  west,  the  Cumberland  to  the  southwest, 
the  Sandy  to  the  north  and  the  Pound  river  to  the  east 
ward.  The  heads  of  all  these  rivers  were  now  in  sight 
and  at  our  feet.  It  was  certainly  a  grand  view  of  a 
heavily  timbered  country  settled  only  on  the  streams, 
except  in  certain  spots. 

Then  we  rode  into  the  noted  Pound  Gap,  where  two 
houses,  one  a  residence  and  the  other  a  saloon,  stand. 
They  are  on  the  line  of  Kentucky  and  Virginia,  and  are 
owned  by  the  notorious  "man-killer"  Britt  Potter,  whom 
I  found  later  to  be  a  nice  fellow,  though  a  little  blood 
thirsty  at  the  mention  of  the  Wright  family,  who  had 
reduced  the  male  members  of  the  Potter  fireside  with 
hot  lead. 

The  saloon  had  been  closed  by  law  since  both  Letcher 
County,  Kentucky,  and  Wise  County,  Virginia,  had 
adopted  local  option.  Then  Britt  had  moved  down  the 
river  a  few  miles  to  where  his  father  Abraham  Potter 
lived.  Here  Britt  is  training  his  little  boys  to  shoot. 
One  of  them  became  impatient  one  day  because  there 
were  no  Wright  boys  in  sight,  so  killed  his  own  brother, 
by  shooting  him  in  the  head  while  he  slept. 

Just  after  passing  through  Pound  Gap  we  came  to  the 
spot  where  a  few  years  previous,  the  whole  Mullens  fam 
ily,  all  but  one  boy,  who  was  fleet  of  foot,  were  ambushed 
and  killed  for  their  money,  the  old  man  having  just  sold 
his  land  and  was  leaving  Kentucky. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  425 

"Doc"  and  I  climbed  the  large  rock  behind  which  the 
five  assassins  were  concealed. 

As  soon  as  the  boy,  whose  suspenders  were  cut  in 
two  with  a  bullet  where  they  crossed  in  the  back,  spread 
the  news,  "Doc"  S.  was  one  of  the  first  to  join  the  offi 
cers  and  go  on  trail  of  the  assassins.  They  came  to 
gether  in  a  house,  and  when  the  smoke  of  battle  cleared 
away  "Doc"  was  branded  for  life  with  a  bullet  through 
his  face  from  one  side  to  the  other.  In  the  flight  one  of 
the  officers  crossed  the  dark  river  of  death,  and  so  did 
some  of  the  outlaws.  The  balance  were  captured  and 
sent  to  the  pen. 

A  few  miles  down  the  mountain  side  through  the  tall 
timber,  we  came  to  the  first  house,  owned  by  "Doc"  S's 
brother-in-law,  Brennan.  Here  we  "liquored  up"  and 
warmed  by  the  fire. 

About  three  miles  further,  we  came  to  the  only  Donkey 
town  on  earth.  It  contained  only  one  store  and  about 
one  dozen  houses.  "Doc"  owned  the  two  story  frame 
house  across  the  street  or  road  from  the  store,  and  a 
farm  south  of  the  swift  flowing  Pound  river. 

Mrs.  "Doc"  S.  and  the  five  small  children  were  happy 
over  Miss  "Mousie's"  return,  she  being  the  oldest  child, 
and  her  mother  being  an  invalid.  In  Donkey  I  found  that 
Miss  Emma  was  known  by  the  name  of  "Mousie,"  al 
though  not  ratified. 

The  older  boys  took  our  saddle  animals  to  the  stable 
across  the  river,  while  "Doc"  and  I  walked  a  few  hun 
dred  yards  down  the  river  to  old  man  Eli  S's.  Here  I 
was  introduced  to  "Doc's"  father  and  mother,  his  brother 
Gregg  and  his  wife  and  his  pretty  black  eyed  sister  Lil- 


426  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

lie,  whose  age  was  twenty-six.  The  old  man  being  an  in 
valid,  spent  most  of  his  time  propped  up  in  bed  in  the 
front  room  which  faces  the  main  road. 

After  the  old  man  had  been  assured  by  "Doc"  that  I 
was  "true  blue"  and  all  right,  the  different  kinds  of 
liquors,  apple  brandy,  mint  brandy,  blackberry  wine  and 
doctored  "moonshine"  which  would  kill  a  mule  as  it  was 
full  of  "lye-ball,"  were  pulled  from  under  the  bed  which 
was  the  old  man's  "blind  tiger"  and  his  way  of  making 
a  living.  Then  the  drinking  began  and  ended  when 
"Doc"  and  I  were  called  home  to  supper. 

Before  leaving  old  man  S's  I  had  to  promise  to  be  their 
guest  the  following  night.  Here  the  thought  of  the  in 
surance  policy  in  favor  of  "Mousie"  came  flashing 
through  my  memory,  and  I  wondered  if  they  would 
try  to  kill  me  by  poison  or  bullets.  I  hoped  they  would 
use  the  bullet  method,  for  then  I  could  bring  old  Colts 
45  into  play  and  stand  a  chance  to  win  some  of  the  in 
surance  money  by  only  getting  wounded.  Many  in 
Whitesburg  and  at  Craftsville  had  warned  me  to  steer 
clear  of  old  man  S's  "blind  tiger"  which  they  said  was 
a  death  trap.  Therefore  my  mind  was  in  shape  to  ex 
pect  anything. 

We  retired  early  at  "Doc's,"  and  I  slept  soundly  as 
the  door  to  my  room  was  locked  so  that  no  one  could 
get  in  to  play  for  that  thousand  dollar  prize. 

Next  day  I  put  in  my  time  horseback  riding  with  Miss 
Lillie  S.,  and  buying  sweets,  calico  and  ribbons  for  the  S. 
kids,  including  Miss  "Mousie." 

That  evening  I  became  the  guest  of  Eli  S.  and  his 
family. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  427 

After  the  chicken  supper  we  all  congregated  in  the 
front  room  where  the  liquor  was  stored,  and  where  a 
fire  blazed  in  the  old  fashioned  fireplace.  "Doc"  had 
joined  us.  Soon  Miss  Lillie  got  out  her  guitar  and  com 
menced  to  play  and  sing.  One  of  her  songs  worked  me 
up  to  a  high  pitch;  it  set  me  wild.  It  ran  thus: 

"Oh  meet  me  in  the  moonlight 

When  all  alone, 
For  a  story  I  have  to  tell 
And  it  must  be  told  alone." 

Her  sweet,  low  voice  seemed  to  fit  the  song  to  per 
fection.  I  couldn't  buy  the  drinks  fast  enough  to  suit 
myself  and  to  encourage  her  to  play  and  sing  the  same 
song  over  and  over  again.  I  was  in  an  earthly  Heaven. 
The  different  kinds  of  liquor  helped  matters  along,  and 
so  did  Miss  Lillie's  meet  me  in  the  moonlight  glances. 
Music  and  singing  had  not  had  such  an  effect  on  me 
since  1882  in  St,  Louis,  Mo.,  when  I  cut  up  a  fine  parlor 
qhair. 

I  had  just  landed  in  St.  Louis  and  bought  a  new 
suit  of  "hand-me-down"  clothes.  The  Jew  who  sold 
them  couldn't  induce  me  to  discard  my  cowboy  hat  and 
high  heel  boots,  nor  could  my  sister  or  her  up-to-date 
husband. 

One  day  while  walking  down  Fourth  street  a  well 
dressed  Southern  gentleman  gave  me  his  hand  and  asked 
if  I  was  not  from  Texas.  Then  we  had  a  few  rounds  of 
drinks.  This  gentleman  proved  to  be  one  of  the  wealthy 
ex-skve-owning  Terrys  of  Wharton  county,  Texas,  ad 
joining  the  county  of  Matagorda  where  I  was  born.  I 
had  heard  of  the  great  Terry  plantation  when  a  small 
boy. 


428  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Nothing  would  do  Mr.  Terry  but  that  I  visit  his  resi 
dence.  He  said  that  he  had  just  married  a  young  lady 
and  wanted  to  show  her  what  a  real  Texas  cowboy  was 
like.  I  went.  On  our  arrival  the  elegant  parlor  was 
filled  with  elegantly  dressed  ladies,  but  no  gentlemen. 

After  being  introduced  to  the  ladies,  a  plush  mahogany 
chair  was  given  me  to  sit  in.  I  was  very  cautious  and 
sat  down  gently  so  as  not  to  spoil  the  delicate  thing. 
Here  Mr.  Terry  asked  his  beautiful  young  wife  to  play 
a  few  of  her  favorite  pieces  on  the  piano,  as  I  would  no 
doubt  enjoy  music  of  that  kind  after  so  many  years  of 
sleeping  and  eating  out  doors.  The  lady's  sweet  singing 
is  what  upset  me.  My  mind  was  centered  on  the  pretty 
singer,  while  no  doubt  many  eyes  were  centered  on  me. 

When  Mrs.  Terry  quit  playing  and  wheeled  around  on 
her  stool  to  see  what  effect  her  singing  had  had  on  me, 
I  came  back  to  my  right  senses.  I  found  myself  sitting 
on  one  foot,  which  was  under  me  on  the  plush-bottom 
chair  seat.  The  other  foot  was  up  on  one  of  the  chair 
rounds,  and  in  my  right  hand  was  a  sharp  I.  X.  L. 
pocketknife  with  which  the  chair  had  been  whittled  to 
ruination.  The  brussels  carpet  was  strewn  with  ma 
hogany  shavings. 

I  didn't  realize  that  there  was  anything  wrong  until 
Mr.  Terry  began  to  yell  and  laugh.  Finally  Mrs.  Terry 
broke  into  a  laugh.  The  older  ladies  were  too  much 
mortified  to  even  smile.  I  insisted  on  paying  for  the 
chair,  but  Mr.  Terry  wouldn't  hear  to  it.  He  said  this 
was  worth  more  than  a  dozen  chairs  to  him,  as  his  wife 
had  been  begging  him  to  round  up  a  real  live  Texas 
cowboy  and  bring  him  home  so  she  could  see  what  they 
looked  like. 


THE  AUTHOR  AS  HE  APPEARED  WHEN  HE  WHITTLED 
THE  CHAIR. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  429 

After  getting  over  my  blushing,  I  confessed  that  it 
was  Mrs.  Terry's  pretty  face  and  sweet  voice  which  did 
the  damage. 

Whittling  on  boxes  and  ranch  benches  had  become  a 
fixed  habit  with  me,  hence  cutting  the  chair. 

"Doc"  went  home  early.  Mrs.  Gregg  S.  had  gone  to 
bed  in  another  room,  and  the  old  lady  had  gone  to  bed 
by  the  side  of  her  husband  in  the  room  that  we  were 
celebrating  in. 

About  i  :oo  A.  M.  Gregg  and  I  were  pretty  well 
"loaded,"  under  the  influence  of  the  mixed  drinks. 

Finally  my  head  began  to  swim  and  I  became  deathly 
sick.  The  thought  of  having  been  poisoned  flashed 
through  my  mind.  I  asked  to  be  shown  to  my  room,  so 
that  I  could  lie  down,  but  my  real  intention  was  to  slip 
out  of  the  house  and  try  to  find  Mr.  Gibson's  place  in 
the  upper  end  of  the  town. 

"Nels"  Craft  had  told  me  that  if  I  got  into  trouble  in 
Donkey  to  hunt  up  his  friend  Gibson,  who  was  a  square 
man.  He  had  described  the  house  to  me. 

Gregg  conducted  me  into  the  adjoining  front  room 
and  insisted  that  he  was  going  to  sleep  with  me.  This 
settled  the  matter  in  my  mind, — it  was  a  sure  case  of 
poisoned  to  get  the  $1000  life  insurance  and  the  money  I 
had  with  me. 

I  started  to  the  front  door,  telling  Gregg  that  I  was 
going  outside  to  sit  down  and  get  some  fresh  air.  He 
said  that  he  would  go  along  too.  Then  I  got  mad,  and 
with  my  hand  on  the  handle  of  old  Colts  45  which  was 
sticking  in  the  waistband  of  my  pants,  I  told  Gregg  to 
stay  right  where  he  was  and  to  keep  away  from  me.  No 


430  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

doubt  if  he  wasn't  too  drunk  he  could  see  the  fire  flashing 
from  my  eyes,  for  I  meant  business.  When  I  opened 
the  door  and  stepped  out  into  the  darkness,  he  called  to 
me  saying  he  would  leave  the  door  open  so  I  could  find 
my  way  back  by  the  lamp  light. 

It  had  been  raining,  and  the  road  which  followed  the 
bank  of  the  river  was  very  muddy,  almost  knee  deep  in 
some  places.  It  was  too  dark  and  my  head  was  in  too 
much  of  a  whirl  to  see  the  footpath  on  the  side  of  the 
hill,  so  I  kept  the  middle  of  the  road,  and  twice  fell 
down  in  the  mud,  but  I  strained  every  nerve  to  reach 
Gibson  and  tell  him  that  I  had  been  poisoned. 

About  two  hundred  yards  above  "Doc's"  house  I  came 
to  a  place  answering  the  description  of  Gibson's.  I 
knocked  on  the  door  and  a  rough  mountaineer  in  his 
night  clothes  admitted  me  to  the  inside.  He  informed 
me  that  his  name  was  Gibson  and  that  "Nels"  Craft  was 
a  friend  of  his.  Then  he  was  told  my  suspicions  of 
being  poisoned.  He  replied:  "I  saw  you  out  riding 
this  evening  and  I'm  not  surprised.  You  ought  to  have 
known  better." 

Mr.  Gibson  held  the  candle  while  my  muddy  boots  and 
outer  clothing  were  being  pulled  off,  and  when  the  pistol 
was  jerked  out  and  placed  under  the  pillow,  he  gave  a 
jump  as  though  startled. 

I  then  fell  over  on  the  cot  and  he  pulled  the  cover  over 
me.  In  a  moment  I  was  dead  to  the  world. 

Soon  after  daylight,  the  noise  of  Gibson's  building  a 
fire  in  the  front  room  woke  me  up,  and  on  finding  my 
self  not  dead  from  the  supposed  poison  administered  by 
the  S's,  I  was  ashamed  of  myself. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  431 

My  outer  clothing  was  a  sight,  with  the  mud  still 
adhering  to  them,  but  they  were  put  on. 

Before  leaving,  Mr.  Gibson  promised  that  he  would 
not  tell  of  my  poison  suspicions.  He  was  told  that  I 
intended  to  fix  up  a  story  about  getting  lost  and  finding 
his  place  by  accident. 

In  passing  "Doc"  S.'s  house  on  my  way  to  the  old 
man's  "Mousie"  who  was  outside  splitting  kindling  for 
the  morning  fire,  spied  me.  She  came  running  out  to 
the  fence  saying:  "Oh  Mr.  Lloyd,  where  have  you 
been?  They  are  all  crazy  down  to  grandpa's.  They 
have  been  up  all  night  searching  for  you  in  the  river  and 
everywhere.  Uncle  Gregg  came  after  papa  to  help  find 
you.  They  thought  you  fell  into  the  river." 

I  explained  to  "Mousie"  of  how  I  got  drunk  and  went 
outside  to  get  some  fresh  air,  and  sitting  down  on  a 
rock  fell  asleep,  and  that  when  I  woke  up  I  took  the 
wrong  direction  and  found  myself  at  Gibson's  house,  and 
was  put  to  bed. 

There  was  great  rejoicing  on  my  arrival  at  old  man 
S.'s  place.  They  felt  sure  that  I  had  fallen  over  the  bank 
into  the  river  and  was  drowned.  Their  greatest  worry 
seemed  to  be  over  the  chance  of  the  story  getting  out 
that  I  had  been  robbed  and  murdered,  and  if  my  body 
was  never  found,  of  people  thinking  that  it  had  been  con 
cealed  to  hide  the  crime. 

I  made  up  for  my  misconduct  by  going  to  bed  like  a 
gentleman  that  night. 

About  midnight  Gregg  and  I  opened  the  front  door 
to  go  outside  before  retiring  for  the  night.  This  woke 
up  the  old  lady  and  in  an  excitable  voice  she  called  out: 


432  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

"Oh,  Gregg,  come  back  here,  don't  you  take  Mr.  Lloyd 
off  and  lose  him  again." 

The  chances  are  the  S.'s  don't  know  to  this  day  the 
true  story  of  my  getting  lost  in  Donkey. 

It  shows  how  a  man's  mind  can  be  worked  up  by  hear 
ing  false  tales  about  people.  While  the  S.'s  were  hand 
ling  liquor  contrary  to  law,  I  had  no  fear  of  being 
harmed  by  them  after  learning  their  true  natures. 

After  this  I  made  other  trips  to  Donkey,  and  Gregg  and 
I  rode  out  to  "moonshine"  stills  in  the  wildest  part  of 
the  mountains,  and  so  far  as  the  S.'s  were  concerned,  I 
felt  perfectly  safe. 

On  one  of  these  trips  to  Donkey  I  saw  "Doc's"  courage 
and  "Mousie's"  cooking  tested. 

"Doc"  and  I  had  walked  down  to  old  man  S.'s  to 
"liquor  up"  a  little  when  we  heard  much  shooting  up 
at  the  store.  Soon  a  man  came  down  to  tell  "Doc"  to 
keep  hid  out  as  his  most  bitter  enemy  was  drunk  and 
hunting  for  him  to  kill  him  on  sight.  It  was  this  enemy 
who  was  doing  the  shooting  at  the  store.  He  and  his 
partner  had  just  come  down  from  their  "moonshine" 
still  on  the  Black  Mountain  with  the  intention  of  wiping 
Donkey  off  the  face  of  the  earth,  just  because  "Doc"  S. 
lived  in  the  place. 

"Doc"  had  left  his  pistol  at  home  and  he  couldn't  get 
to  it  unseen  without  a  long  walk  over  the  hills.  He 
asked  for  the  loan  of  mine  so  that  he  could  face  this 
enemy  and  give  him  the  opportunity  of  putting  him  out 
of  business.  I  loaned  "Doc"  my  old  Colts  45  as  I  was 
anxious  to  have  her  tested  in  a  hind-to-hand  battle  by 
some  one  else  besides  myself. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  433 

With  the  pistol  in  his  hand  held  behind  him  under  his 
coat,  "Doc"  started  for  the  store  and  I  with  him.  In 
front  of  the  store  there  were  several  men.  One  of  them 
stood  on  the  edge  of  the  store  platform  facing  "Doc's" 
house.  In  his  hands  he  held  a  Winchester  rifle,  and 
around  his  waist  was  strapped  a  large  pistol.  He  had 
been  firing  the  Winchester  rifle  into  a  dirt  bank  just 
under  "Doc's"  door  yard,  so  as  to  bring  "Doc"  out  of 
the  house. 

The  wild  and  woolly  "moonshiner"  had  just  reloaded 
his  rifle  magazine  with  more  cartridges  when  "Doc"  and 
I  stepped  upon  the  store  platform  behind  him.  Just  then 
"Mousie"  stepped  into  the  side  yard  and  the  "bad"  man 
fired  a  bullet  near  her.  "Doc"  stepped  up  almost  to  the 
fellow's  side  and  in  a  cool,  low,  voice  told  him  that  if  he 
shot  again  he  would  kill  him.  The  fellow  turned  his  head 
slowly  around  and  saw  "Doc"  by  his  side,  but  he  made 
no  effort  to  bring  the  rifle  around  towards  his  bitter 
enemy.  There  both  stood  like  statues,  neither  saying  a 
word.  The  suspense  was  a  strain  on  my  nerves,  as  1 
wanted  to  hear  old  Colts  45  talk  while  a  brave  man's 
finger  was  on  the  trigger. 

At  this  moment  Ike  Potter  and  four  companions  from 
Kentucky,  rode  up,  and  seeing  the  situation,  Ike  Pot 
ter  called  the  "bad"  man  by  name  and  asked  him  to  step 
out  to  him.  This  he  did.  A  few  words  were  spoken. 
Then  the  "bad"  man  walked  in  the  mud  by  the  side  of 
the  horsemen  and  all  disappeared  down  the  road.  When 
below  old  man  S.'s  the  shooting  began  again.  Two  days 
later  we  heard  that  this  "moonshiner"  was  in  jail  for 
shooting  up  the  county  seat,  Wise,  Va. 

28 


434  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

When  "Doc"  handed  me  back  old  Colts  45  after  we 
had  entered  his  home,  I  imagined  that  I  could  see  the 
poor  pistol  shedding  briny  tears  over  the  chance  she  had 
missed  of  showing  her  abilities,  when  it  came  to  punctur 
ing  human  flesh;  for  I  had  been  a  cruel  master  and  for 
twenty  odd  years  had  kept  her  in  restraint. 

Now  about  "Mousie"  and  her  cooking;  I  had  been  to 
the  railroad  towns  of  Glaymorgan,  Wise,  and  Norton, 
Virginia,  and  I  had  promised  Miss  "Mousie"  to  be  back 
in  Donkey  on  a  certain  day,  sure.  She  had  agreed  to  get 
me  up  a  swell  supper  with  her  own  hands. 

On  my  way  back  to  Donkey  on  the  appointed  day,  I 
stopped  at  Pound,  two  miles  below  Donkey,  where  there 
is  a  postoffice,  and  there  found  "Doc's"  oldest  boy  and 
the  fat  white  horse.  The  boy  and  I  rode  home  together. 
He  could  talk  of  nothing  else  but  the  good  things 
"Mousie"  was  cooking  for  my  supper.  He  said  she  had 
been  baking  pies  and  cakes  all  day. 

But  holy  smoke  and  little  fashes,  what  a  deceitful  world 
this  is.  I  had  to  look  pleasant  and  pretend  that  "Mousie" 
was  the  best  cook  in  the  world.  Besides,  I  had  to  fill 
my  stomach  with  pie,  cake  and  biscuits  which  would  have 
taken  a  week  to  digest,  had  it  not  been  for  the  goodnight 
kiss  received  before  retiring.  Still,  the  poor  girl  did 
her  best,  which  couldn't  have  been  worse  from  an  indi 
gestion  standpoint. 

I  felt  satisfied  that  the  people  around  Donkey,  Crafts- 
ville  and  the  Potter  settlement  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  kidnapping  of  young  Wentz.  Furthermore,  I  was 
satisfied  that  he  was  dead,  as  I  had  got  it  from  Ashford 
N.  and  Mrs.  Lottie  H.,  both  of  whom  no  doubt  knew 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  435 

what  they  were  talking  about.  Ashford  had  assured  me 
that  he  was  dead  and  would  never  bother  Kentuckians 
again,  and  Lottie  said  she  knew  that  he  had  been  killed 
for  the  cruel  way  in  which  he  and  his  men  had  treated 
her  and  Birdie,  and  for  killing  her  half  brother  Daniels, 
though  she  didn't  know  what  had  been  done  with  the 
body.  She  said  the  parties  who  had  done  the  job  kept 
the  matter  to  themselves ;  that  all  she  cared  to  know  was 
that  he  had  been  killed. 

On  top  of  Black  Mountain,  at  the  head  of  the  Cumber 
land  river,  on  the  road  leading  from  Whitesburg  to 
Stonaga,  Va.,  several  citizens  of  Letcher  County,  Ky., 
had  owned  saloons  which  were  run  in  defiance  of  the 
laws  of  Wise  county,  Va.,  and  Letcher  county,  Ky. 
These  saloon  buildings  were  built  on  the  line  of  the  two 
states,  half  in  Kentucky  and  half  in  Virginia,  so  that 
when  officers  of  one  state  would  try  to  make  an  arrest 
the  saloon  fixtures  and  goods  were  moved  into  the  op 
posite  end  of  the  building  over  the  state  line. 

One  of  these  saloons  had  been  run  by  Lottie  H., 
her  sixteen-year-old  daughter  Birdie,  and  her  half 
brother  Daniels,  with  the  help  of  her  nineteen-year-old 
son  Jim. 

Another  saloon  at  the  same  place  had  been  run  by  my 
fat  friend  Monroe  W.  who  had  lately  married  Lottie  H.'s 
oldest  daughter. 

The  other  saloon  had  been  run  by  Ashford  N. 

The  Wentz  Company  owned  the  coal  mines  at  Stonaga, 
Va.,  about  three  miles  down  the  mountain  side  from  these 
above  mentioned  saloons.  Dan  and  Ed  Wentz,  sons  of 
millionaire  Dr.  Wentz,  of  Philadelphia,  Pa.,  were  in 


436  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

direct  charge  of  these  mines,  and  they  objected  to  these 
saloons  being  located  so  near,  on  account  of  their  em 
ployes  being  made  drunk. 

One  night  a  raid  was  made  on  the  saloons.  In  the 
fight  which  followed  the  town  marshal,  King,  of  Stonaga, 
was  shot  and  killed,  an  so  was  Lottie  H.'s  half  brother, 
Daniels.  The  liquor  was  destroyed  and  the  buildings 
sawed  in  two.  The  half  in  Kentucky  was  left  standing 
while  the  other  part  was  hauled  away  or  burnt  up.  Lot 
tie  H.  and  her  daughter  Birdie  were  marched  through  the 
mud  afoot,  and  placed  in  jail  at  Wise,  Va.  And  for 
this  crime  against  blue-blooded  Kentuckians,  Ed.  and 
Dan  Wentz  were  doomed  to  die,  though  after  Ed.  was 
kidnapped  Dan  kept  out  of  the  way,  so  that  he  couldn't 
be  caught  unawares. 

This  is  the  story  told  me  in  confidence  by  Lottie  H. 
She  gave  me  the  full  details  of  the  fight  from  beginning 
to  end,  all  except  the  manner  in  which  Ed.  Wentz  was 
put  out  of  the  way,  and  this  she  claimed  not  to  know, 
as  her  friends  who  had  the  matter  in  charge  kept  it  a 
secret. 

While  Lottie  didn't  confess  it  as  a  fact,  she  gave  me 
to  understand  that  Monroe  W.  and  his  money  were 
leading  factors  in  the  plot,  and  that  was  why  he  tried  to 
run  me  out  of  the  country;  that  he  supposed  I  had  just 
come  from  Virginia  to  run  down  the  Wentz  mystery, 
and  that  when  he  found  that  I  had  come  from  Jackson, 
Ky.,  he  thought  maybe  I  might  be  all  right,  though  she 
said  he  was  always  suspicious  and  uneasy  and  advised  her 
not  to  associate  with  me  for  fear  she  might  let  some 
thing  drop,  as  I  might  be  a  detective  on  the  Wentz  case. 


A    COWBOY  DETECTIVE  437 

I  had  become  so  "solid"  with  Lottie  H.  that  Monroe 
W.  and  his  gang  couldn't  break  our  friendship.  I  had 
confided  in  her  as  to  a  killing  of  two  men  in  Texas  in 
which  fight  I  took  part,  and  I  had  let  her  read  all  my 
Texas  and  New  Mexico  letters  on  the  subject.  While 
I  had  hoped  that  she  would  let  the  secret  out  of  my  be 
ing  an  outlaw,  she  didn't  do  it.  She  was  just  as  true  as 
steel  to  me  and  kept  her  promise  not  to  give  me  away. 

Lottie  H.  had  a  farm  two  miles  below  Whitesburg  on 
the  Kentucky  river.  She  was  a  fairly  good-looking 
middle-aged  woman  of  more  than  the  average  intelli 
gence.  With  her  lived  Birdie  and  Jim  with  his  young 
wife  Ollie,  and  a  younger  son  and  a  daughter  Mary. 

Lottie  H.  was  a  sister  of  Sheriff  Ed.  Callihan  of 
Brethitt  county,  Kentucky,  who  soon  after  was  arrested 
for  bloody  murders  committed  in  and  around  his  home 
town  of  Jackson. 

Many  were  the  murders  committed  through  this  hon 
orable  officer  of  the  law,  as  told  to  me  by  Lottie  H.  He 
had  formerly  been  a  member  of  the  noted  Hatfield  gang 
of  the  McCoy-Hatfield  feud  notoriety. 

I  was  given  the  details  of  a  late  cold-blooded  murder 
committed  through  sheriff  Callihan  of  Brethitt  county. 
He  owned  a  big  mercantile  establishment  in  the  country 
east  of  Jackson.  A  man  started  a  store  in  the  same 
neighborhood,  and  in  order  to  get  rid  of  this  store 
sheriff  Callihan  hired  his  brother-in-law  S.  to  kill  the 
owner. 

One  day  S.  with  some  picked  witnesses  drove  up  to 
the  opposition  store  in  a  wagon  and  raised  a  fuss  about 
a  log  hook  which  had  been  borrowed.  S.  shot  the  man 
dead. 


438  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

There  being  some  uncertainty  about  the  result  of  the 
trial  in  Jackson,  the  jury  had  to  be  bought  at  quite  a 
cost  to  Lottie  H.'s  brother.  S.  came  clear,  and  later  ap 
peared  on  the  scene  in  Virginia  where  Ed.  Wentz  was 
kidnapped.  After  the  kidnapping  of  Wentz  he  married 
Lottie  H.'s  daughter  Birdie.  He  had  "shook"  her  and 
returned  to  Brethitt  county  just  previous  to  my  arrival. 
From  what  I  could  learn  he  had  a  hand  in  getting  away 
with  Ed.  Wentz. 

I  put  in  much  of  my  time  at  Lottie  H.'s  drinking, 
dancing  and  having  a  big  time.  I  also  kept  up  my 
carouses  with  Ashford  N.  in  my  room  in  Whitesburg, 
through  the  assistance  of  the  jailer,  Boney  Isum. 

In  order  not  to  disturb  the  sleep  of  the  Holcomb  fam 
ily,  I  had  Mrs.  Holcomb  fit  me  up  a  room  in  a  log  cabin 
away  from  the  main  residence.  Here  Ashford  N.  kept 
his  jug  of  liquor  and  often  slept  with  me,  the  deputy  or 
jailer  coming  after  him  in  the  morning. 

Ashford  told  me  all  about  young  Wentz  passing  him 
in  the  road  near  Kellyville,  Va.,  on  the  morning  of  his 
disappearance,  but  he  wouldn't  say  that  he  had  a  hand 
in  getting  away  with  him,  though  he  indicated  as  much 
and  seemed  to  want  to  impress  me  with  the  fact  that 
he  did. 

A  good  deal  of  my  work  now  was  over  on  the  head 
of  the  Cumberland  river,  where  I  used  to  get  "moon 
shine"  fresh  from  the  illicit  stills.  I  had  gained  a  "foot 
hold,"  and  "moonshiners"  were  not  afraid  of  me  now. 

On  one  of  these  trips  to  a  "moonshine"  still  with  Ash 
ford  N/s  chum,  Brown,  who  lived  over  on  the  Cumber 
land  river  at  the  foot  of  the  southern  end  of  the  Black 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  439 

Mountain  near  where  that  bunch  of  saloons  were  cut  in 
two,  I  secured  some  information  about  Ed.  Wentz.  I 
learned  that  he  was  dead,  and  that  he  had  been  taken 
from  his  horse  alive  by  three  men. 

Brown  and  the  few  people  in  his  wild  out-of-the-way 
neighborhood  were  very  bitter  against  the  Wentzes  and 
their  company  for  having  gobbled  up  vast  stretches  of 
valuable  coal  and  timber  land,  and  their  interference  with 
the  liquor  traffic. 

In  riding  over  the  mountains  with  Brown  in  search 
of  pure  "moonshine"  I  was  told  many  blood-curdling 
tales  of  murder  in  which  Brown  had  figured,  and  from 
others  I  found  he  had  told  the  truth.  He  was  honest 
enough  though  to  -acknowledge  that  the  people  of  these 
mountains  didn't  give  enemies  a  chance  to  fight  for  their 
lives ;  hence  they  are  generally  shot  from  ambush,  which 
he  thinks  is  the  proper  way.  He  himself  has  been  shot 
clear  through  the  body,  and  he  showed  me  the  wounds. 

I  traded  my  mule  off  to  Brown  on  this  trip.  While 
on  the  way  to  a  "moonshine"  still  he  pulled  out  $40 
and  offered  it  as  boot  between  my  "Donk"  and  his  small 
three-year-old  blue  roan  pacing  stallion.  I  accepted  and 
saddles  were  changed. 

In  this  trade  I  won  a  prize,  for  he  was  the  swiftest 
natural  pacer  and  the  best  piece  of  young  horseflesh 
that  had  ever  been  straddled  by  an  ex-cowpuncher. 

As  to  searching  for  pure  "moonshine,"  I  will  state  that 
much  of  the  "moonshine"  in  these  mountains  is  doctored 
by  adding  "lye-ball,"  pure  concentrated  lye.  With  one 
gallon  of  pure  "moonshine"  liquor  and  one  ball  of  lye, 
about  three  gallons  can  be  made,  and  only  an  expert 


440  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

can  tell  the  difference,  though  one's  stomach  soon  finds 
it  out. 

Through  the  teachings  of  the  S.  boys,  in  Donkey,  and 
Ashford  N.,  I  had  become  an  expert  in  knowing  the 
difference  between  the  pure  and  the  adulterated  liquor. 

Towards  spring,  Ed.  Wentz's  body  was  found  by  acci 
dent  in  a  wild  heavily  timbered  country  three  miles  from 
where  his  horse  and  saddle  had  been  found  on  the  night 
of  his  disappearance.  It  was  found  near  Kellyville,  Va., 
on  the  eastern  slope  of  the  Black  Mountains  directly 
over  the  mountain  from  the  head  of  the  Cumberland 
river  in  Kentucky. 

Our  Asst.  Supt.  Estin  of  the  Philadelphia  office  hur 
ried  to  the  spot  to  view  the  body  before  it  had  been 
moved.  He  found  that  young  Wentz  had  been  shot 
through  the  heart  and  placed  on  top  of  some  logs  in  a 
reclining  position.  Down  the  hill  from  the  body  lay  his 
pistol  with  one  chamber  empty,  to  give  the  idea  of 
suicide,  and  also  his  eye  glasses,  hat,  etc.  Mr.  Estin  in 
formed  me  later,  that  it  would  have  been  impossible  for 
Wentz  had  he  shot  himself,  to  have  reached  the  spot 
where  the  body  was  found,  he  having  been  shot  through 
the  heart.  Estin  also  said  that  the  body  had  no  doubt 
been  placed  where  it  was  found  at  least  a  month  after 
he  had  been  kidnapped;  for  when  he  disappeared  the 
forest  leaves  had  just  begun  to  fall,  and  under  the  body 
the  leaves  were  plentiful,  showing  that  his  body  had 
been  put  there  after  the  leaves  had  fallen. 

Furthermore,  after  the  young  man's  horse  had  Deen 
found,  Dr.  Wentz  and  his  son  Daniel  had  hired  hundreds 
of  men  who  scoured  the  woods  for  ten  miles  square  in 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  441 

the  neighborhood  of  where  the  horse  and  saddle  were 
found.  The  coal  mines  at  Stonaga  had  been  closed  down 
and  all  the  men  turned  out  to  search  for  the  missing 
man.  They  were  divided  up  into  gangs  and  walked 
abreast  through  the  thick  woods,  so  that  every  foot  of 
ground  could  be  searched.  It  was  done  systematically. 
Mr.  Estin  says  that  men  who  were  in  this  searching 
party  claim  that  they  remember  going  over  the  spot 
where  the  body  was  found,  and  had  it  been  there  they 
couldn't  have  helped  seeing  it. 

The  body  was  in  good  shape,  with  the  exception  of 
the  right  hand  being  cut  off.  The  hand  was  never 
found,  and  here  hangs  a  tale. 

Shortly  after  young  Wentz's  disappearance  his  father 
began  to  receive  mysterious  letters  offering  to  free  Ed. 
Wentz  for  certain  sums  of  money  up  into  the  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  dollars.  Finally  a  letter  came  from  San 
Francisco,  Cal.,  that  if  a  large  sum  of  money  was  not  put 
in  a  certain  place  and  an  advertisement  put  in  the  per 
sonal  columns  of  the  San  Francisco  Examiner,  stating 
that  all  was  O.  K.,  his  son  would  be  killed  and  his  right 
hand  sent  to  him  to  prove  that  their  threat  had  been  car 
ried  out. 

The  chances  are  that  young  Wentz  had  been  held  alive 
for  a  month  or  so  in  hopes  of  a  ransom  from  his  father, 
and  when  their  scheme  failed  they  took  him  to  the  spot 
where  the  body  was  found  and  fired  a  bullet  from  his 
own  pistol  into  his  heart.  Then  laid  the  body  on  the 
limbs  of  the  dead  tree  where  it  was  discovered  by  men 
hunting  cows.  The  hand  may  have  been  cut  off  with  the 
intention  of  sending  it  to  Dr.  Wentz,  but  later  decided 


442  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

to  be  a  dangerous  thing  to  do,  as  it  might  lead  to  detec 
tion.  Again,  the  hand  may  have  been  lost  before  the 
time  came  for  sending  it. 

I  found  out  that  Lottie  H.  had  relatives  living  thirty 
miles  from  San  Francisco,  Cal.  She  kept  up  a  cor 
respondence  with  them.  I  had  seen  their  letters ;  hence  if 
Monroe  W.  and  his  gang  had  young  Wentz  secreted 
in  the  mountains  they  could  have  had  that  threatening 
letter  mailed  in  San  Francisco  by  their  relatives.  One 
of  these  male  relatives  came  to  Whitesburg  from  Cali 
fornia  after  my  arrival  on  the  scene,  and  I  became  well 
acquainted  with  him. 

There  is  one  thing  sure, — if  the  gang  above  referred 
to  didn't  commit  the  crime,  then  Lottie  H.  and  Ashford 
N.  wanted  to  leave  the  impression  on  my  mind  that  they 
did,  and  were  therefore  revenged. 

Dr.  Wentz  would  have  paid  any  amount  of  money  for 
the  return  of  his  son  alive,  but  he  had  received  other 
mysterious  letters  which  had  been  run  down  and  found 
to  have  been  written  by  "cranks."  Besides,  the  time 
allowed  in  the  letter  referred  to  above  was  too  short, 
considering  the  great  distance  from  San  Francisco  to 
Philadelphia,  to  meet  the  demand  before  the  time  set 
for  the  killing  and  the  cutting  off  of  the  hand. 

After  the  body  of  Ed.  Wentz  had  been  taken  to  Phila 
delphia  for  burial.  I  made  frequent  trips  into  Virginia 
along  the  railroad  which  skirts  the  foot  of  Black  moun 
tain,  from  Stonaga,  through  Appalachia,  Kellyville  and 
Norton,  and  Wise,  the  county  seat. 

Near  Kellyville  lived  a  man  named  Hubbard,  and  his 
family,  and  they  were  thought  to  know  something  of 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  443 

the  crime,  as  young  Wentz's  horse  and  saddle  had  been 
found  in  the  road  leading  to  Kellyville  by  two  young 
men  who  were  stopping  at  the  Hubbard  place. 

Hubbard  was  known  to  run  a  "blind  tiger,"  selling 
liquor  against  the  law  and  keeping  a  hard  gang  around 
him.  Therefore  I  worked  on  Hubbard  and  his  two 
daughters;  and  here  I  became  acquainted  with  one  of 
Ashford  N.'s  brothers  who  was  in  the  "moonshine" 
liquor  business. 

I  satisfied  mself  that  Hubbard  and  his  family  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  murder  of  Wentz,  but  not  so 
with  the  brother  of  Ashford  N. 

In  working  on  the  Hubbard  girls  I  bumped  into  some 
more  cooking  of  the  M.  S.  brand. 

Ashford  N.  was  always  glad  at  my  return  to  Whites- 
burg,  for  it  meant  a  jolly  time  with  plenty  to  drink  in 
my  log  cabin. 

Finally,  Ashford  longed  for  liberty.  He  still  had  about 
two  months  to  serve  behind  the  bars.  He  decided  to 
break  jail,  and  my  influence  was  used  where  it  would  do 
the  most  good  in  pushing  matters  along. 

The  night  for  the  escape  was  planned.  It  was  agreed 
that  I  leave  some  liquor  at  Dicie  F's  on  Big  Cowan 
Creek,  as  "Ash"  might  be  dry  when  he  reached  there 
on  the  way  to  Brown's  place. 

Dicie  F.  was  the  woman  wounded  Christmas  day  by 
Shepard  when  he  shot  and  killed  Riley  Webb.  She  lived 
in  what  was  called  a  tough  neighborhood.  Jailer  Boney 
I  sum  had  introduced  me  into  society  over  there.  A 
relative  of  his  had  one  of  his  wives  living  next  to  Dicie 
F's.  She  was  a  tall  muscular  young  woman  with  two 


444  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

healthy  babies  and  the  regulation  low  water  mark  on  her 
neck.  She  split  her  own  rails  and  put  in  her  own  crops. 
All  she  asked  of  hej  lord  was  that  he  visit  her  once  in 
awhile  to  see  how  the  crops  were  getting  on.  Her  lord's 
main  wife  and  half  a  dozen  children  lived  eight  miles 
from  this  girl,  therefore  no  danger  of  hair  pullings. 

-Boney  Isum  had  only  one  wife  anchored,  and  she 
lived  at  the  jail. 

In  these  mountains  nothing  is  thought  of  a  man  hav 
ing  half  a  dozen  "wives."  One  fellow  of  the  Brigham 
Young  build,  who  lives  at  the  head  of  the  Kentucky  river, 
has  seven  women,  and  all  have  raised  large  families,  and 
all  have  the  stamp  of  being  chips  from  the  old  block. 
It  would  be  a  safe  wager  to  bet  that  one-third  of  the  pop 
ulation  of  these  mountains  are  of  illegitimate  birth. 

When  Ashford  N.  broke  jail  he  put  in  the  first  night 
down  at  Lottie  H's,  and  the  next  night  at  Dicie  F's; 
thence  to  Brown's  place.  No  one  suspected  me  of  be 
ing  on  the  inside.  He  could  serve  me  better  by  being  a 
free  man.  My  plans  had  been  laid  for  the  future,  when 
a  full  confession  of  the  Wentz  murder  was  almost  cer 
tain. 

During  the  winter  I  had  made  three  trips  out  to  civi 
lization,  once  to  Bristol,  Tenn.,  once  to  Knoxville,  Tenn., 
and  the  other  time  to  Huntington,  West  Va.  These 
trips  were  made  to  meet  Supt.  Bearce,  or  Asst.  Supt. 
Estin  to  get  a  new  supply  of  money.  My  horse  would 
be  left  in  a  livery  stable  at  Norton,  or  Appalachia,  Va. 

While  in  Knoxville  I  went  to  see  the  saloon  building 
which  is  now  used  as  a  restaurant,  where  "Kid"  Curry 
made  such  a  brave  fight,  shooting  two  officers. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  445 

While  in  the  mountains  of  Kentucky  and  Virginia  I 
learned  all  the  tricks  of  beating  the  Government  in  the 
licensed  still  business.  I  visited  several  stills  so  as  to 
get  onto  these  tricks,  which  are  many. 

I  had  made  arrangements  to  start  a  licensed  still  in 
partnership  with  Lottie  H's  son  Jim.  The  site  was 
selected  up  in  the  head  of  a  gulch  on  the  Lottie  H.  farm. 
When  this  news  leaked  out  Lottie  said  that  Monroe  W. 
objected  and  swore  it  shouldn't  be  started.  After  this 
I  received  private  warnings  through  friends  to  keep 
away  from  Lottie  H's  or  I  would  be  killed;  but  I  never 
could  find  out  who  made  the  threats,  or  whether  they 
were  made  on  account  of  the  Wentz  matter  or  love  for 
Lottie  H.  and  her  daughter  Birdie.  A  wealthy  and  in 
fluential  citizen  was  "dead  stuck"  on  Lottie,  and  since 
my  arrival  on  the  scene  she  had  grown  cold  towards 
him.  He  often  came  to  see  her  while  I  was  at  the  house, 
and  he  wouldn't  speak  to  me.  His  son  R.  was  in  love 
with  Birdie.  It  wasn't  known  for  certain  which  I  loved 
the  more,  as  I  played  "sweet"  on  both;  therefore  these 
threats  may  have  come  through  jealously. 

On  two  occasions  I  suspected  a  trap  laid  for  me,  but  I 
was  too  "foxy"  to  put  my  foot  into  it. 

A  fellow  known  as  "In  the  Woods"  Brown  had  tried 
to  lead  me  into  the  trap,  so  I  suspected.  He  had  once 
made  an  unsuccessful  attempt  to  assassinate  merchant 
Jim  Eraser  and  when  caught,  confessed  that  he  did  it 
for  $50.  But  it  was  said  that  all  of  his  attempts  had  not 
proved  failures. 

While  in  Whitesburg  my  reports  were  all  mailed  to 
different  addresses  in  the  far  west,  and  all  my  mail  came 


446  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

from  that  country.  We  were  lucky  in  having  an  honest 
intelligent  young  man,  Samuel  Collins,  for  postmaster  in 
Whitesburg,  otherwise  my  mail  would  have  been 
tampered  with,  for  he  told  of  the  inducements  offered 
him  for  some  of  my  mail.  These  inducements  had  been 
offered  when  I  first  came  to  the  country,  and  I  suspected 
Monroe  W.  as  being  the  gentleman  who  had  tried  to 
"work"  young  Sam  Collins.  Of  course  the  postmaster 
didn't  say  that  he  had  been  offered  money,  but  that  cer 
tain  parties  were  suspicious  of  me  and  wanted  him  to  let 
them  have  access  to  my  mail. 

During  the  month  of  May  when  my  plans  were  ripe 
for  starting  the  whisky  still  with  Jim  H.,  I  had  been  re 
quested  by  our  Philadelphia  officials  to  give  my  opinion 
as  to  whether  convictions  could  be  secured  against  the 
murderers  of  young  Wentz,  if  convincing  proof  was  se 
cured.  I  gave  it  as  my  opinion  that  it  was  a  waste  of 
money  to  try  to  convict  any  of  these  people,  owing  to 
the  fact  that  most  of  the  settlers  and  their  offspring  are 
related  either  by  blood  or  marriage,  and  of  the  further 
fact  of  the  bitter  feeling  against  the  Wentz  company. 

A  good  deal  of  this  hatred  had  been  brought  about 
through  the  Wentz's  arresting  men  for  cutting  bee  trees 
and  trespassing  on  company  land. 

In  the  meantime  while  waiting  for  money  to  start  the 
still,  I  was  learning  all  the  ins  and  outs  of  the  still  busi 
ness. 

It  was  Jim  H.'s  and  my  intention  to  establish  our 
liquor  warehouse  on  top  of  Black  mountain  on  the  lots 
owned  by  his  mother.  Then  we  would  have  Ashford  N. 
and  a  few  men  of  his  stamp  peddle  liquor  on  the  sly 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  44? 

among  the  coal  miners  in  Stonaga  and  the  other  coal 
camps  nearby.  I  had  also  visited  Middlesboro,  Ky.,  to 
learn  the  licensed  still  business.  The  Ball  brothers, 
there  being  four  of  them,  were  friends  of  Jim  H.  They 
owned  a  still  and  four  saloons  in  that  town.  Since  then, 
these  Ball  brothers  have  gained  notoriety  on  account  of 
killings,  the  state  militia  being  called  out  to  capture  them 
in  their  mountain  stronghold. 

One  day  I  had  been  up  the  river  to  Sam  W.'s  place, 
drinking  "moonshine"  and  having  a  big  time,  Sam  W. 
being  one  of  the  "bad"  mankillers  of  the  country. 

I  arrived  back  in  Whitesburg  about  sundown.  Lottie 
H.  was  in  town  on  her  mule.  She  asked  me  to  ride  home 
with  her  as  there  was  a  drunken  crowd  in  town  and  she 
was  afraid  to  go  home  in  the  dark.  We  started,  and  I 
noticed  R.  and  some  of  his  drunken  companions  watch 
ing  us  as  we  rode  across  the  river,  R.  being  a  married 
man  who  was  in  love  with  Birdie  H.  and  jealous  of  me, 
no  doubt. 

On  reaching  Lottie  H.'s  home  I  ate  supper,  after 
which  Lottie  and  I  sat  on  the  porch  talking.  Birdie  and 
her  younger  sister  Mary  had  gone  to  bed.  Lottie  tried 
to  persuade  me  to  stay  all  night,  but  I  refused  under  the 
pretense  that  I  could  sleep  late  in  the  morning  in  my  own 
room  and  thereby  get  rested  after  my  "big  time"  up  the 
river.  But  the  truth  of  the  matter  was,  I  smelled  a 
"mice"  from  the  way  R.  and  his  gang  had  acted  when 
Lottie  and  I  rode  out  of  town. 

It  was  about  10:00  p.  M.  when  I  bade  Lottie  good 
night  and  rode  across  the  river  into  the  main  road.  The 
night  was  cloudy  and  dark,  and  my  route  lay  along  the 
river  bank  in  the  shadow  of  tall  trees. 


448  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

After  going  a  quarter  of  a  mile  I  saw  the  outlines  of 
four  men  afoot  in  the  road  coming  towards  me.  On  see 
ing  me  they  jumped  over  a  rail  fence  and  ran  to  a  clump 
of  bushes  in  the  field  on  my  right,  and  hid.  I  rode 
slowly  past  this  thicket  with  my  hand  on  old  Colts  45. 
A  few  hundred  yards  further  up  the  road  I  met  Lottie 
H.'s  hired  man  Day,  coming  from  town  on  a  mule.  I 
told  him  of  the  four  men  hiding  in  the  thicket.  Next 
day  in  court  Mr.  Day  testified  that  he  had  met  me,  and 
of  being  told  about  the  four  men  in  the  thicket,  and  of 
how  he  had  just  got  to  bed  when  R.  and  three  drunken 
companions  came  into  his  room  and  wanted  to  know 
where  Lloyd  was.  On  being  told  that  I  had  gone  home 
R.  said  that  must  have  been  I  who  went  up  the  road 
when  they  hid.  That  then,  he  said,  the  gang  went  into 
the  room  where  Lottie  H.  and  her  two  daughters  were  in 
bed,  and  demanded  to  know  where  Lloyd  was.  They  were 
told  that  I  had  gone  back  to  Whitesburg.  Then  the  gang 
commenced  raising  Hades.  Soon  after  this,  Lottie  H.'s 
nephew  Jim  D.,  who  was  a  deputy  sheriff,  dropped 
into  Lottie's  on  his  way  from  his  sweetheart's  place  down 
the  river.  Here  a  battle  began,  one  against  four,  and 
when  the  smoke  cleared  away  the  deputy  sheriff  lay 
mortally  wounded  with  a  bullet  through  his  body,  while 
two  of  R.'s  companions  were  wounded  from  bullets  fired 
by  Jim  D. 

Early  that  morning  I  was  back  to  Lottie  H.'s  and  did 
all  that  was  possible  to  relieve  the  suffering  of  the 
wounded  deputy  sheriff.  At  midnight  he  died,  and  from 
that  time  until  morning  the  scene  was  affecting  to  even 
calloused  nerves  like  mine,  for  the  dead  man's  brothers, 
Jesse  and  Bob,  cried  all  night. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  449 

After  we  had  all  been  singing  religious  songs  around 
the  bedside  of  the  corpse,  old  grandma  H.  got  me  to 
one  side  and  said :  "I  didn't  think  we  would  have  to  lay 
poor  Jim  out  so  soon,  but  I  did  expect  your  death  before 
this.  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about.  You  have  been 
marked  for  death  quite  awhile.  You  have  been  warned 
several  times  but  you  won't  leave.  Now  you  take  my 
advice  and  get  out  of  this  country  just  as  quick  as  you 
Can.  I  can't  tell  you  all  I  know,  but  I  don't  want  to  see 
you  killed." 

Grandma  H.'s  oldest  son  was  the  father  of  Lottie  H.'s 
children.  He  had  been  dead  a  couple  of  years. 

One  of  R.'s  wounded  companions  made  a  confession 
on  being  arrested,  and  said  that  R.  had  furnished  him 
with  a  pistol  to  go  down  to  Lottie  H.'s  and  help  raise 
a  fuss  with  me,  so  as  to  "do  me  up;"  that  he  went  by 
R.'s  house  to  get  the  extra  pistol  as  he  had  none  of  his 
own,  while  R.  had  two. 

I  continued  to  visit  at  Lottie  H.'s  as  though  grandma 
H.  had  not  given  me  the  friendly  warning. 

Soon  after,  I  received  instructions  from  Asst.  Supt. 
Estin  to  sell  my  horse  and  outfit  and  meet  him  at  a  cer 
tain  hotel  in  Washington,  D.  C.  In  the  letter  he  stated 
that  the  operation  would  be  closed  as  it  was  decided  that 
a  conviction  could  not  be  had,  no  matter  how  strong  the 
proof. 

After  selling  the  horse  and  outfit,  my  friends  were  bade 
goodby  for  a  short  time,  as  it  was  pretended  that  I  was 
going  to  return  after  a  short  visit  to  the  World's  Fair 
in  St.  Louis,  Mo. 

I  had  made  many  warm  friends  in  Whitesburg,  among 


450  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

them  being  Sam  Collins  the  postmaster,  and  a  young 
lawyer,  Wilson  Field. 

There  are  some  good  people  in  these  mountains,  and 
others  not  so  good.  Their  worst  fault  is  their  reckless 
regard  for  human  life.  They  think  no  more  of  killing 
a  man  than  of  killing  a  wild  beast.  At  least  twenty 
murders  were  committed  in  these  mountains  during  my 
short  stay. 

They  also  need  education  in  their  mode  of  living, 
especially  in  their  home  life,  wherein  one  wife  is  not  con 
sidered  sufficient  for  one  man.  Also,  they  need  bath 
tubs.  I  failed  to  see  one  bath-tub  in  the  counties  of 
Letcher,  Perry  and  Knott.  Possibly  they  are  afraid  of 
wearing  out  should  they  wash  too  much. 

One  morning  Mr.  B.  whose  weight  is  300,  and  who 
is  said  to  never  have  done  a  day's  work  in  his  life,  al 
though  past  middle-age,  he  being  a  king-bee  of  the 
"moonshiners' "  brigade,  and  I  were  to  start  early  on 
a  squirrel  hunt.  On  reaching  his  house  he  informed 
me  that  he  couldn't  go  hunting  as  this  was  his  bath 
day;  that  his  wife  kept  track  of  it  and  was  now  heating 
the  water.  He  said  he  always  took  a  bath  regularly 
every  six  months;  that  some  people  didn't  believe  in 
bathing  so  often,  but  he  did.  Out  in  the  back  yard  his 
little  delicate  wife  had  two  large  kettles  on  the  fire,  as 
though  it  was  hog-killing  day. 

Another  curse  of  this  country  is  the  marrying  of  first 
and  second  cousins. 

I  was  glad  to  get  away  from  Whitesburg,  for  two 
reasons  one  of  which  was  to  get  beef  to  eat.  I  had  not 
seen  or  tasted  a  piece  of  beef  in  Kentucky  during  my 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  451 

over  seven  months'  stay,  that  is,  away  from  the  rail 
roads.  I  was  also  anxious  to  get  away  from  the  sound 
of  banjos.  Nearly  every  household  has  from  one  to 
half  a  dozen  of  these  instruments,  and  nearly  every  child 
can  pick  the  same  tune.  Some  few  can  pick  as  many  as 
three  or  four  tunes. 

Regardless  of  my  wild-oat  sowing  habits,  pure-hearted 
virtuous  Lizzie  Holcomb  gave  me  a  goodby  kiss,  with 
a  hope  that  I  would  reform  and  quit  scattering  oat-seed 
broadcast  over  the  land. 

Before  shaking  the  dust  of  the  Kentucky  mountains 
from  these  pages,  I  will  state  that  should  any  reader  of 
this  book  wish  to  see  a  dying  man  smile,  he  or  she  ought 
to  be  present  when  the  last  breath  is  just  leaving  me, 
and  then  mention  Mrs.  Sol  Holcomb  and  the  first  four- 
legged  monkeys  which  were  ever  in  Whitesburg. 

A  couple  of  Italians  brought  two  trained  monkeys  to 
Whitesburg.  They  were  dressed  up  in  human  rigging 
and  performed  on  the  main  street  which  contained  only 
five  stores  and  the  overgrown  court  house.  The  town 
turned  out  to  see  the  monkey  show.  It  was  a  circus 
sure  enough,  but  all  the  monkeyshines  were  not  per 
formed  by  the  little  "monks."  There  were  others. 

There  were  old  gray  headed  men  and  women  who 
had  never  seen  a  monkey  before.  When  it  was  all  over 
Mrs.  Sol  Holcomb  came  into  the  sitting  room  of  her 
house,  perspiring  like  a  "nigger"  at  an  election.  She 
said :  "Lor'  bless  my  soul,  I  didn't  know  befo'  that  mon 
keys  was  human  beins !  I  jess  wouldn't  of  believed  it." 

Good-natured,  easy-going  little  Sol  Holcomb  smiled 
and  said :  "Why  Bess,  they  ain't  humans,  they  are  jest 
animals." 


453  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Here  Mrs.  Sol  got  up  on  her  high  horse  and  with 
her  strong  right  arm  bared  to  the  elbow  and  pointed 
towards  her  hubby  said:  "Now  look  a  here  Sol,  don't 
you  dare  tell  me  them  ain't  humans,  for  I  knows  better. 
They  are  jess  as  much  humans  as  any  black  nigger  or 
you  either,  Sol !" 

I  spent  three  days  in  Washington,  D.  C.,  on  leaving 
Kentucky,  and  there  took  in  the  sights.  In  Philadelphia 
I  stayed  two  days  settling  up  the  affairs  of  the  Dr. 
Wentz  operation.  Then  Mr.  Roy  L.  Dickenson  phoned 
for  me  to  [come  down  to  New  York  City.  I  arrived  in 
New  York  City  on  that  morning,  and  most  of  the  day 
was  spent  with  Mr.  Royder  Dickenson.  He  showed  me 
through  every  nook  and  corner  of  the  large  block  owned 
and  occupied  by  the  Dickenson  agency.  I  also  visited 
with  the  other  high  officials,  and  the  many  assistant  su 
perintendents,  too  numerous  to  mention.  That  night  I 
went  to  a  theater  at  the  agency's  expense. 

Next  day  my  old  Denver  friend,  executive  clerk  Mr. 
C.  K.  Hibben,  showed  me  some  of  the  great  sights  of  the 
city,  and  I  took  in  Coney  Island  on  an  excursion 
steamer. 

Mr.  Dickenson  gave  me  permission  to  take  in  the 
World's  Fair  in  St.  Louis,  en  route  to  Denver.  But  he 
requested  that  I  go  from  St.  Louis  to  Chicago  to  Visit 
Mr.  W.  L.  Dickenson,  as  he  might  want  to  see  me,  though 
I  suspected  this  was  done  for  my  own  pleasure  to  give 
me  a  rest. 

En  route  to  St.  Louis  one  night  and  part  of  one  Sun 
day  were  spent  in  Pittsburg,  Pennsylvania,  which  gave 
me  an  opportunity  of  seeing  part  of  that  smoky  city. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  453 

In  St.  Louis  I  took  in  the  World's  Fair  with  my 
sister  and  her  family. 

While  in  that  city  I  also  visited  the  Dickenson  agency 
under  the  supervision  of  Mr.  Wobster,  whom  I  already 
knew. 

Then  I  took  the  back  track  for  Chicago  to  meet  Mr. 
Wm.  L.  Dickenson.  He  had  no  business  for  me,  except 
a  desire  that  I  go  out  to  his  residence  and  ride  his  new 
$500.00  saddle-horse  and  give  my  honest  opinion  about 
him,  also  that  I  take  a  look  at  his  half  dozen  fine  bull 
terriers.  The  horse  I  found  to  be  a  "dandy."  He  was 
certainly  the  finest  gaited  large  horse  that  I  ever  strad 
dled,  but  for  real  heavenly  delight  he  couldn't  hold  a 
candle  to  the  little  blue-roan  sold  in  Kentucky  by  me 
for  $60.00. 

While  in  Chicago  I  enjoyed  the  visit  with  Mr.  Dick 
enson  and  the  superintendents  and  their  assistants. 

Shortly  after  my  return  to  Denver,  Supt.  J.  S.  Kaiser 
received  a  letter  from  Mr.  W.  L.  Dickenson  requesting 
that  I  make  out  a  bill  for  my  personal  expenditures  while 
taking  in  the  World's  Fair  several  days,  and  the  agency 
would  pay  it.  I  did  as  requested,  and  it  pleased  me,  as 
this  is  something  employers  seldom  do. 

Thus  did  the  most  interesting  operation  of  my  eighteen 
years'  connection  with  the  Dickenson  agency  end.  I  had 
been  gone  from  Denver  eight  months. 


CHAPTER   XX 

A  MINING  CASE  IN  KELLY,  N.  M. — BIG  ROBBERY  IN 
PRESCOTT,  A.  T. — INCENDIARY  CASE  IN  WYOM 
ING — MRS.  SHAW  KIDNAPPING  CASE  IN  PUEBLO, 
COLO. — CHASE  AFTER  "BAD"  MAN  IN  SONORA, 
MEXICO — CATTLE  CASE  IN  WYOMING  AND  MON 
TANA — "FRENZIED  FINANCE"  OPERATION  IN  Ros- 

WELL,   N.   M. 

Soon  after  my  return  from  the  Dr.  Wentz  case  in 
Kentucky  and  Virginia,  I  was  hurried  south  to  Magda- 
lena,  New  Mexico,  on  the  A.  T.  &  S.  F.  Ry.  From 
there  I  went  to  the  mining  camp  of  Kelly  to  meet  Mr. 
Cochran,  the  manager  of  the  Kelly  mine,  on  a  stage 
coach. 

Mr.  Cochran  started  me  to  work  on  certain  mining 
men  of  the  camp  to  gain  certain  information  for  the 
benefit  of  him  and  his  associates. 

My  name  here  was  Chas.  T.  Lloyd.  I  remained  over 
a  month  and  did  the  work  successfully. 

En  route  back  to  Denver,  Colo.,  I  stopped  off  a  few 
days  in  Santa  Fe  to  visit  my  pets  at  the  Sunny  Slope 
ranch.  Two  of  my  pet  horses,  Lulu  and  "Glen"  had 
crossed  over  to  the  happy  hunting  ground  where,  if  the 
Indians'  religion  is  correct,  they  may  be  ridden  by  the 
noble  red  men  on  buffalo  hunts.  I  felt  grieved  over  their 
death. 

A  few  days  spent  in  Denver  and  I  was  off  for  Chey- 

454 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  455 

enne,  Wyo.,  to  meet  U.  S.  Marshal  Hadsell  and  his 
deputy  Joe  LaFors,  and  the  client  who  is  a  high-up 
statesman. 

The  Warren  Live  Stock  Company  had  had  their  home 
ranch  on  Pole  Creek,  twelve  miles  north  of  Cheyenne, 
burnt  along  with  a  lot  of  stock,  causing  a  loss  of  about 
$40,000.00.  It  was  known  to  have  been  set  afire,  but 
there  was  no  clue  as  to  who  did  it.  Joseph  LaFors  had 
worked  on  the  case  and  found  suspicious  circumstances 
connected  with  an  ex-convict  named  Bert  H.  Hence  it 
required  that  I  win  the  confidence  of  cowboy  Bert  H. 
and  get  a  confession  from  him  if  he  committed  the 
crime.  Bert  H.  was  known  to  be  somewhere  on  the 
Laramie  plains  about  seventy-five  miles  north  of  Chey 
enne. 

In  order  to  hail  from  the  adjoining  state,  Nebraska, 
I  went  there  on  a  U.  P.  Ry.  train,  and  from  Sidney, 
Nebraska,  I  took  a  B.  &  M.  train  to  Torrington,  Wyo 
ming,  near  old  Fort  Laramie,  where  years  before  I  had 
attended  dances  on  crutches.  Here  I  bought  a  horse  and 
saddle  and  rode  west  for  the  Laramie  Plains,  several 
days'  ride  distant. 

Bert  H.  was  found  at  the  Jim  K.  ranch.  He  had  a 
contract  to  put  up  some  wild  hay  for  Jim  K.  He  did  the 
hay-cutting  all  alone  in  the  gulches  and  low  places  far 
from  the  ranch,  the  country  being  wild  and  unsettled. 

Bert  H.  and  I  became  fast  friends  and  we  made  trips 
into  the  settlements.  He  told  me  all  about  himself  and 
we  planned  big  horse-stealing  raids  into  Nebraska.  He 
had  been  sent  to  the  Wyoming  pen  for  stealing  horses, 
and  he  now  kept  a  small  band  running  on  the  range  as 
a  nest-egg  to  drawn  on. 


456  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

During  this  fall  of  1904  while  working  on  Bert  H. 
I  took  in  the  great  cowboy  tournament  at  the  Frontier 
Day  Celebration  in  Cheyenne,  and  while  there  I  was  kept 
jumping  sideways  to  avoid  running  into  Bert  C.  of 
"Wild  Bunch"  fame  and  others  whom  I  knew. 

This  cowboy  tournament  was  a  great  treat  to  me, 
especially  the  "bronco-busting"  contests.  The  riders  did 
fine,  but  in  the  roping  contests  the  ropers,  as  a  whole, 
were  "on  the  bum,"  which  would  have  been  considered 
disgraceful  to  the  early-day  cowboy.  But  this  can  be 
accounted  for  by  the  fact  of  the  present-day  cowboy 
not  getting  much  every-day  practice. 

One  day  when  Bert  H.  and  I  were  five  miles  from  the 
Jim  K.  ranch  we  saw  a  streak  of  flying  calico  in  the  air. 
As  it  drew  nearer,  we  discovered  it  to  be  Mrs.  Jim  K. 
sitting  clothespin  fashion  on  an  old  horse  who  was  run 
ning  his  best.  As  soon  as  the  frightened  lady  could 
get  her  breath  she  informed  us  that  her  only  child,  a 
twelve  year  old  boy  had  shot  himself  in  the  leg  with  a 
pistol. 

She  and  the  boy  were  the  only  ones  at  home,  as  her 
husband  had  gone  away  on  a  week's  trip  and  their  hired 
man  Joe  Cruelty  would  not  be  back  until  night. 

As  the  wounded  boy  had  been  left  lying  on  the  kitchen 
floor  alone,  I  put  spurs  to  my  horse  and  galloped  to  the 
ranch  while  Bert  H.  followed  with  the  team  and  wagon, 
so  as  to  take  the  boy  to  Chugwater  station  on  the  Chey 
enne  Northern  Railroad  about  twenty  miles  west. 

The  boy  was  found  on  the  floor  badly  frightened.  I 
discovered  that  the  bullet  was  lodged  deep  down  in  the 
calf  of  his  leg.  After  bandaging  the  wound  with  wet 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  457 

towels,  first  cleansing  it  with  diluted  carbolic  acid,  I  be 
gan  to  cheer  him  up,  by  laughing  and  telling  him  of  the 
value  of  bullet-marks  in  the  making  of  a  good  cowboy. 
He  had  a  great  desire  to  be  a  wild  and  woolly  cow- 
puncher. 

By  the  time  Mrs.  K.  arrived  I  had  the  boy  laughing. 

Then  I  explained  the  foolishness  of  making  the  trip 
to  Cheyenne,  just  to  have  the  bullet  cut  out,  at  an  expense 
of  at  least  $200.00,  in  the  face  of  the  future  honor  to  be 
derived  from  carrying  lead  in  his  flesh,  as  in  old  age 
he  could  tell  his  grandchildren  that  he  was  packing 
lead  shot  into  him  by  wild  Indians  when  the  Laramie 
plains  was  a  howling  wilderness.  I  assured  the  mother 
that  the  boy  would  be  well  and  on  his  feet  in  two  weeks, 
whereas  in  Cheyenne  hospital  he  would  be  kept  just  as 
long  as  she  could  be  grafted  out  of  the  doctor's  fees. 
The  result  was,  when  Bert  H.  arrived  there  was  no  need 
for  the  team,  as  the  proposed  trip  to  the  railroad  had 
been  given  up. 

I  finally  decided  beyond  a  reasonable  doubt,  that  Bert 
H.  had  no  hand  in  the  burning  of  the  Pole  Creek  ranch ; 
therefore,  I  went  near  the  line  of  Nebraska  to  work 
out  another  clue  which  had  been  given  by  Senator  War 
ren  and  Joe  LaFors. 

On  leaving  the  Laramie  plains  the  wounded  boy,  who 
was  on  crutches  and  out  of  danger,  sold  me  one  of  his 
half-starved  Russian  wolf-hound  pups.  He  was  all  legs 
and  hair,  and  had  never  had  a  square  meal,  as  the  eight 
dogs  on  the  ranch  were  fed  once  a  day  on  mush  by  the 
hired  man,  Joe  Cruelty,  who  only  fed  them  half  enough, 
the  few  table  scraps  all  going  to  his  own  two  shepherd 
dogs  and  Mrs.  K.'s  pet  cats. 


458  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

I  named  the  pup  "Jimmie  Long-legs,"  as  a  name  should 
always  be  founded  on  facts,  and  the  fact  of  Jimmie  hav 
ing  long  legs  was  a  reality. 

On  leaving  the  ranch  one  morning  to  make  a  hard 
ride  without  water,  Jimmie  played  completely  out  and 
couldn't  navigate. 

I  was  uncertain  as  to  whether  the  bronco  which  I  had 
just  traded  for,  would  consent  to  carrying  double,  but 
it  was  a  case  of  "pushincy," — something  had  to  be  done 
to  get  Jimmie  to  water. 

Riding  up  by  the  side  of  the  pup  I  reached  down  and 
caught  him  by  the  nape  of  the  neck.  Then  swinging  him 
across  the  saddle  in  front  of  me,  the  bucking  contest  be 
gan.  Here  was  a  bronco-busting  contest  going  to  waste 
on  the  desert  with  no  one  to  see  but  the  Lord,  and  if  His 
all-seeing  eye  gathered  in  any  fun  from  this  free  show 
He  failed  to  let  it  be  known  by  slapping  me  on  the  back 
(and  saying:  "Well  done  thou  good  and  faithful  bronco 
and  dog  buster."  The  pup  was  being  "busted"  too,  or  at 
least  would  have  been  had  his  stomach  contained  any 
thing  but  the  lingering  memory  of  his  last  mush  supper. 

Every  time  the  bronco  came  down  on  his  front  feet 
with  his  hind  parts  up  in  the  air,  my  whole  weight  was 
thrown  against  the  pup's  empty  mushbasket,  and  of 
course  the  air  was  full  of  yelps.  I  wanted  to  smile  but 
didn't  have  time. 

On  reaching  the  creek  where  there  was  a  small  lake, 
I  shot  a  mudhen  for  Jimmie.  Then  I  had  to  pull  off 
my  boots  and  pants  and  wade  out  into  the  muddy  lake 
to  get  the  hen.  While  ripping  the  mudhen  open  prepar 
atory  to  skinning  the  feathers  off,  the  "purp"  which  was 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  459 

sitting  on  his  long  tail  eyeing  the  operation,  smelled  the 
blood  and  made  a  grab  for  the  hen.  I  tried  to  take  it 
away  from  him  but  he  held  on,  so  turning  my  hold 
loose  I  told  Jimmie  to  pick  his  own  duck ;  but  bless  you, 
he  ate  feathers,  bill,  feet  and  all.  It  was  rilling  that  he 
was  after,  and  not  dainties. 

Here  I  changed  Jimmie's  name  to  "Eat  'Em  Up  Jake" 
and  he  retains  that  name  to  this  day. 

Later  in  Cheyenne  City,  I  put  E.  E.  U.  J.  in  a  crate 
and  expressed  him  to  Santa  Fe,  New  Mexico,  there  to 
join  my  other  pets. 

My  next  few  weeks'  work  solved  the  fire  mystery. 
The  secret  was  locked  up  in  the  brains  of  two  wealthy 
brothers  who  had  cattle  on  a  thousand  hills.  They  were 

bitter  enemies  of  Senator  and  his  company.  I 

became  quite  chummy  with  one  of  them  and  he  told  me 
enough  to  satisfy  me  as  to  their  guilt. 

I  spoiled  one  scheme  which  the  brothers  were  using 

against  the Company.  They  had  an  extra  'phone 

instrument  which  was  used  to  get  the  secrets  passing 

between  Senator and  his  manager,  Mr.  Willson 

in  Cheyenne  City,  and  the  foreman  of  the  Pole  Creek 
Home  ranch.  A  wire  would  be  attached  to  this  private 
telephone  line  and  then  fastened  to  the  extra  receiver  on 
the  ground.  My  informant  told  me  in  confidence  of  how 
after  the  fire,  he  lived  on  this  telephone  line  catching  all 
the  secrets  of  Joe  LaFor's  sleuthing  work. 

In  Cheyenne  city  I  met  Senator  at  his  home 

and  the  case  was  discussed.  We  decided  that  it  would 
require  a  long  siege  at  great  expense  to  secure  evidence 
enough  to  convict,  more  so,  as  the  secret  was  locked 


460  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

up  in  the  heads  of  two  "foxy"  men  who  had  money  to 
fight  the  case  to  the  bitter  end. 

The  senator  said  that  he  would  read  the  "riot  act"  to 
these  brothers  so  as  to  let  them  know  that  he  knew  of 
their  guilt  and  how  they  had  stolen  his  secrets  from  the 
telephone  line,  and  how  they  used  to  kill  and  cripple  his 
fine  range  horses  by  running  them  into  barbed  wire 
fences,  one  of  their  favorite  schemes  being  to  raise  the 
wires  which  fenced  in  a  windmill  and  trough,  so  that  the 
thirsty  Warren  horses  could  crawl  through  to  the  water. 
Then  the  wild  animals  would  be  stampeded  through  the 
wire,  many  being  ruined  and  some  killed.  On  the 
strength  of  this  information  from  me,  the  senator  dis 
posed  of  his  range  horses. 

It  was  agreed  that  the  operation  be  discontinued, 
therefore  I  returned  to  Denver. 

My  next  operation  out  of  the  city  was  to  Salt  Lake, 
Utah,  to  do  secret  work  on  a  son  of  Banker  O'Gormley 
of  that  city;  also  on  his  friends,  all  young  "bloods"  and 
"high  rollers." 

I  passed  myself  off  as  a  mining  man  and  secured  the 
information  wanted,  relating  to  a  copper  mine  and  new 
smelter  in  one  of  the  southern  territories.  Then  I 
dropped  out  of  sight  and  returned  home. 

Soon  I  was  hurried  off  to  Prescott,  Arizona,  to  work 
on  a  big  robbery  which  had  just  taken  place. 

Jim  S.  was  the  treasurer  of  Yavapai  County,  Pres 
cott  being  the  county  seat,  and  on  the  morning  after 
election,  his  party  being  defeated,  S.  was  found  by  his 
daughter  bound  and  gagged,  and  locked  in  the  vault 
of  the  court  house.  All  the  cash,  many  thousands  of 
dollars,  was  gone. 


'A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  461 

Jim  S.  claimed  that  two  strangers  overpowered  him 
after  midnight  and  locked  him  in  the  vault,  after  which 
they  took  the  cash  and  skipped.  But  his  bondsmen  had 
a  suspicion  that  he  did  the  job  himself,  hence  the  Dicken- 
son  agency  being  called  into  the  case. 

I  arrived  in  Prescott,  Arizona,  about  IO  P.  M.,  and 
after  securing  a  room  strolled  down  "Whisky  Row" 
fronting  the  court  house,  and  there  on  the  street  my 
friend  Joe  Hobbs  in  company  with  the  county  treasurer 
Jim  S.  was  met.  Of  course  I  was  introduced  to  S.  and 
we  three  went  into  a  saloon  to  "irrigate." 

This  illustrates  how  good  luck  often  helps  a  detective, 
though  it  would  have  been  an  unlucky  meeting  had  I 
not  previously  played  my  cards  right  with  Joe  Hobbs. 
He  and  I  had  been  partners  in  a  mine  when  I  was  work 
ing  on  the  Jersey  Lillie  mine-salting  case.  He  had  been 
used  then  as  a  cat's  paw  to  pull  my  chestnuts  out  of  the 
fire,  and  now  I  intended  to  use  him  again  for  the  same 
purpose,  as  he  and  S.  were  bosom  friends. 

Joe  Hobbs  knew  me  by  the  name  of  Lee  Roy  Davis, 
therefore  that  name  had  to  be  used. 

After  midnight  I  invited  Mr.  Hobbs  and  S.  to  have  a 
feast  with  me,  and  while  we  were  in  a  cafe  eating,  two 
officers  came  in  and  arrested  S.  on  a  warrant  sworn  out 
by  his  bondsmen. 

Hobbs  and  I  accompanied  the  Texas  gentleman  to  jail 
and  saw  him  safely  put  to  bed  behind  cold  steel  shutters. 

Of  course,  my  friend  Hobbs  was  "hot  under  the  col 
lar"  over  the  arrest  being  made  at  night  when  bonds 
could  not  be  given  for  his  friend's  release. 

At  8  P.  M.  next  day,  in  Lawlor's  office,  I  met  the 


462  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

bondsmen  who  had  employed  the  Dickenson  agency. 
They  were:  Mr.  James  Wardner,  Mr.  Tony  Motts,  Mr. 
John  Lawson,  Mr.  Robt.  Howe  and  his  partners  in  the 
Palace  saloon  and  theater,  Messers  Smith  &  Belcher. 
They  gave  me  all  the  facts  in  the  case,  of  how  Jim  S.  on 
the  morning  after  the  election  had  been  found  by  his 
daughter  who  was  the  assistant  treasurer,  locked  in  the 
vault  and  all  the  county  funds  gone. 

My  visits  at  the  home  of  Mr.  Hobbs  were  enjoyed,  as 
Mrs.  Hobbs  was  a  nice  little  soul  and  had  three  sweet 
little  children.  Besides,  she  was  a  good  cook  and  gave 
me  an  opportunity  of  testing  her  culinary  art.  She  was 
a  sister  of  my  friend  Joseph  LaFors,  the  deputy  U.  S. 
Marshal  of  Wyoming.  On  this  account  I  disliked  using 
her  and  her  hubby  as  cat's  paws. 

Of  course  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  stay  in  Pres- 
cott  without  being  recognized  by  my  old  friend  Johnny 
Kinnie,  who  still  owned  mining  interests  there.  After 
we  had  come  together,  I  found  that  he  still  loved  "red 
licker,"  "all  same"  twenty-five  years  previous,  when  he 
and  I  went  to  a  swell  Mexican  wedding  in  La  Mesilla, 
New  Mexico,  and  got  "loaded"  on  champagne. 

As  Kinnie  was  a  good  Democrat,  same  as  Mr.  Hobbs 
and  Jim  S.  and  knew  the  inside  workings  of  the  Arizona 
brand  of  political  whisky-soaked  corruption,  I  used  him 
also  as  a  cat's  paw,  though  with  his  consent. 

Johnny  Kinnie  and  I  went  to  the  strong  Miners'  union 
camp  of  McCabe  where  I  did  some  secret  work  among 
old  Coeur  D'Alene,  Idaho,  dynamiters,  who  knew  me 
well,  but  who  failed  to  recognize  me.  Kinnie  was  fear 
ful  lest  one  particular  rabid  dynamiter  from  the  Coeur 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  463 

D'Alenes  might  know  my  face  and  voice;  for  only  a 
few  weeks  previous  he  had  told  Kinnie  of  that  Dicken- 
son  detective  "Allison — Siringo"  who  had  joined  the 
Gem  union  and  turned  traitor.  He  said  he  would  know 
me  should  we  ever  meet,  but  the  fellow  drank  at  my  ex 
pense  many  times  and  told  me  all  about  the  prospects 
for  a  man  of  wealth  like  myself,  investing  money  in  that 
camp. 

Before  court  sat  I  made  a  trip  to  Phoenix,  the  capital 
of  the  territory,  and  to  Tempe  and  other  places.  On 
these  trips  I  was  gathering  evidence  to  be  used  against 
the  schemes  which  Jim  S's  friends  were  manufacturing 
to  clear  the  county  treasurer. 

Finally  the  day  of  trial  arrived,  and  after  the  jury 
were  selected  I  informed  our  clients  that  the  defense 
would  "fix"  a  few  of  the  jurymen  so  as  to  be  assured 
of  a  "hung  jury";  and  later  our  clients  were  given  the 
names  of  the  "fixed"  jurymen,  as  I  had  got  the  informa 
tion  from  headquarters,  but  it  was  too  late  now  to  remedy 
the  evil,  as  the  case  had  started. 

During  the  trial  a  Catholic  priest  did  a  little  stunt  on 
a  court  official  to  save  one  of  his  church  members  of 
wealth  and  influence  who  might  be  sent  to  the  peni 
tentiary  in  case  Jim  S.  was  convicted. 

As  soon  as  the  jury  were  dismissed  the  four  "fixed" 
jurymen  met  Hobbs,  Jim  S.  and  myself  in  one  of  the 
saloons.  Then  drinking  began,  and  these  jurymen  told 
of  how  they  had  worked  for  an  acquittal.  One  of  these 
"fixed"  jurymen  said  he  wouldn't  have  brought  in  a 
verdict  of  guilty  had  he  been  at  an  upstairs  window  in 
the  court  house  and  seen  Jim  S.  carry  off  the  county 
funds 


464  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Thus  is  Arizona  justice  blind-drunk  sometimes. 

Of  course  Jim  S.  was  put  under  bond  for  a  new  trial, 
he  being  convicted  at  the  fourth  trial,  and  sentenced  to 
the  penitentiary  for  four  years. 

The  next  day  I  bade  my  friends  goodby  and  pulled 
out  for  Denver  stopping  en  route  at  Santa  Fe,  New  Mex 
ico. 

I  found  a  wonderful  change  in  Eat  'Em  Up  Jake.  He 
had  grown  to  be  almost  as  large  as  a  young  colt,  and 
his  ribs  were  covered  with  good  solicHEat.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
B.  C.  Volk  who  had  charge  of  my  ranch  kept  him  filled 
up  as  per  my  request.  E.  E.  U.  J.  knew  me  and  seemed  to 
take  great  delight  in  showing  how  easily  he  could  pick 
up  a  jackrabbit.  The  pleasure  of  seeing  him  outrun  a 
swift  jackrabbit  in  a  few  hundred  yards  race  amply  re 
paid  me  for  the  trouble  and  expense  of  getting  him  to 
Santa  Fe.  Besides,  he  was  a  beautiful  specimen  of  the 
Russian  wolfhound  breed,  and  it  was  a  satisfaction  to 
know  that  I  had  "brought  him  up"  from  a  lanky  half 
starved  pup  to  his  present  lordly  state.  His  hair  was 
now  long  and  curly  and  as  white  as  snow,  with  the  ex 
ception  of  a  few  cloudy  spots.  It  was  also  a  pleasure  to 
think  back  to  the  time  when  he  and  I  slept  together  and 
"busted"  broncos  on  the  sagebrush  flats  of  Wyoming. 

Soon  after  returning  to  Denver  I  was  sent  to  Mt.  Car 
bon,  a  coal  mining  camp  in  Gunnison  county,  Colorado, 
to  investigate  a  fire  which  had  destroyed  a  "tipple"  and 
other  buildings. 

I  found  Mt.  Carbon  to  be  a  desolate  place  on  the 
snowy  crest  of  the  great  rocky  mountain  divide.  Here 
at  midnight,  with  the  snow  from  two  to  ten  feet  deep,  I 


EAT  '£M  UP  JAKE. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  465 

walked  out  into  the  hills  and  with  old  Colts  45  shot  out 
the  old  year  1904,  and  ushered  in  the  new  year  of  1905. 
It  was  a  single  handed  New  Year's  celebration  at  a 
height  of  over  10,000  feet  above  sea  level,  with  the 
whole  face  of  nature  wrapped  in  her  purest  robe  of 
white,  and  with  the  large  flakes  of  snow  falling  thick 
and  fast.  My  mind  naturally  drifted  back  twelve 
months  to  when  old  Colts  45  and  I  smoked  in  the  new 
year  just  dead,  among  the  "moonshiners"  of  "Old  Kin- 
tuck." 

I   finally   decided  that  the  fire  which  destroyed  the 
tipple  was  an  accident  caused  by  defective  electric  wires. 

Then  I  "hiked"  back  to  Denver  to  await  a  new  opera 
tion. 

For  the  next  few  months  my  work  was  on  short  oper 
ations  in  the  city  or  the  nearby  towns. 

During  this  time  I  made  one  "big  catch"  in  the  per 
son  of  Joseph  Adams,  alias  many  other  names.  He  was 
a  member  of  the  noted  Knox-Whitman  gang  of  check 
forgers  and  had  been  chased  all  over  the  United  States 
and  Europe.  In  the  crowded  postoffice  one  Sunday  morn 
ing  I  recognized  him  as  resembling  the  Adams  photo 
which  was  carried  in  my  pocket.  After  this  "foxy" 
gentleman  had  gotten  a  letter  at  the  general  delivery 
window  he  went  out  into  the  rainstorm  and  tried  to 
cover  up  his  tracks  by  going  through  out-of-the-way 
streets  and  alleys.  On  turning  a  corner  he  would  stand 
concealed  to  see  if  any  one  were  following  him.  Here 
my  early  training  in  "shadow"  work  came  in  play.  He 
finally  went  to  his  room  on  I4th  street.  Then  I  stepped 
so 


466  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

into  a  nearby  drug  store  and  'phoned  to  Assistant  Supt. 
Geary  that  I  had  the  muchly  wanted  bank  forger  located, 
giving  the  number  of  the  street  where  his  room  was 
located. 

Soon  Asst.  Supt.  B.  and  operative  "Dick"  H.  were 
sent  to  assist  me. 

When  Asst.  Supt.  B.  and  one  of  the  city  officials 
arrested  Adams  in  the  afternoon,  when  he  had  finished 
a  meal,  I  dropped  out  of  sight,  as  we  poor  operatives 
are  compelled  to  do  in  order  to  hide  our  identity.  But 
not  so  with  the  assistant  superintendents;  they  can 
swell  up  and  look  wise  as  though  they  are  the  whole 
"cheese." 

Next  morning  the  daily  papers  came  out  with  glow 
ing  accounts  of  the  great  detective  ability  of  our  Asst. 
Supt.  Mr.  B.  in  the  running  down  of  this  great  criminal. 
Of  course  Mr.  B.  didn't  "load"  the  newspaper  reporters. 
He  merely  looked  wise  and  they  did  the  rest.  I  mention 
this  to  illustrate  how  an  operative  in  the  Dickenson  insti 
tution  is  a  dead  duck  so  far  as  the  public  are  concerned. 
Adams  was  sentenced  to  a  long  term  in  the  penitentiary, 
so  I  was  told. 

During  the  early  spring  I  was  sent  to  Leadville  and 
Cripple  Creek  to  make  an  investigation  on  mining  mat 
ters. 

On  returning  to  Denver  I  was  sent  to  Pueblo,  Colo 
rado,  to  work  on  the  Blanche  Haws  kidnapping  case. 

Mrs.  Haws  was  the  principal  witness  against  Repub 
lican  officials  in  recent  election  frauds  in  Pueblo,  and  she 
had  just  been  kidnapped  and  spirited  away  to  parts  un 
known. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  467 

On  reaching  the  city  of  Pueblo  I  met  our  clients,  Dis 
trict  Attorney  S.  H.  Grave,  Geo.  E.  Lord  and  J.  A. 
Boothly,  both  of  the  Daily  Chieftain,  the  leading  news 
paper  of  the  city. 

A  couple  of  days  later  Mrs.  Haws  was  found,  in  a 
wagon,  being  in  the  hands  of  her  kidnappers  en  route 
to  Canyon  City. 

Mrs.  Haws  and  several  men  were  thrown  in  the  county 
jail.  I  had  found  out  enough  to  convince  me  that  Mrs. 
Haws  "stood  in"  with  the  "play"  and  had  been  kidnapped 
by  her  own  consent. 

She  was  a  good  looking  young  woman  of  the  free 
and  easy  kind,  and  swore  by  all  that  was  holy  that  she 
had  been  kidnapped  by  force.  A  few  days  later  in  the 
same  jail  where  I  had  been  a  prisoner  with  the  cold 
blooded  murderers  Dick  Manley  and  Anderson,  many 
years  previous,  I  broke  Mrs.  Haws  down  and  she  made 
a  full  confession.  Undersheriff  Tim  CXLeary  assisted 
me. 

While  on  the  Haws  case  in  Pueblo  I  had  the  pleasure 
of  inspecting  President  Roosevelt's  teeth  without  his 
knowing  it. 

He  was  returning  to  Washington  from  his  noted  bear 
hunt.  He  made  a  short  speech  from  the  rear  of  his 
private  car.  The  chief  of  police,  McCafferty,  who  knew 
my  business,  had  given  me  a  "tip"  as  to  where  the  Presi 
dent's  car  would  stop.  Therefore  the  widow,  on  whom 
I  was  working,  and  who  thought  I  was  a  rich  mining 
man,  and  I,  secured  a  choice  place  to  stand.  We  stood 
within  a  few  feet  of  "Teddy"  the  Great,  and  I  could  look 
into  his  mouth  while  he  was  talking,  and  see  every  tooth 


468  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

in  his  head,  and  a  finer  set  of  teeth  I  had  never  seen  be 
fore.  Every  one  seemed  to  be  perfect,  and  they  were  set 
into  jaws  that  were  built  for  wear  and  tear. 

While  making  his  heart-to-heart  talk  to  the  great  audi 
ence,  the  President  showed  his  regard  for  the  safety  of 
others,  and  also  the  activity  of  his  massive  brain. 

On  the  rear  end  of  the  coach  dozens  of  children  were 
hanging.  The  engine  backed  up  to  the  train  and  the 
jolt  knocked  some  of  these  "kids"  off  onto  the  track 
where  they  would  have  been  run  over  had  the  coach 
moved  a  few  feet  further.  With  outstretched  arms  ready 
for  action,  the  President  sprang  forward  and  grabbed  at 
some  of  the  urchins  who  were  still  hanging  onto  the 
car.  The  coach  came  to  a  standstill  before  any  damage 
had  been  done,  and  quicker  than  a  flash  the  President's 
whole  countenance  changed,  and  with  a  smile  he  said: 
"Look  out  boys,  little  apples  always  go  to  the  bottom  of 
the  barrel!" 

Of  course  this  put  himself  in  the  big  apple  class, 
which  caused  a  roar  of  laughter.  But  the  point  which 
struck  me  forcibly  was  the  quick  action  of  both  thought 
and  speech. 

I  had  seen  "Teddy"  Roosevelt  once  before  at  Trinidad, 
Colo.,  when  on  his  way  to  the  Rough  Riders'  Reunion  at 
Las  Vegas,  New  Mexico.  This  was  before  he  became 
President.  At  that  time  too,  I  stood  near  the  end  of  his 
car,  though  dressed  as  a  coal  miner  and  being  in  com 
pany  with  a  gang  of  striking  miners. 

Finally  I  returned  home  after  doing  all  that  could  be 
done  against  the  "Grand  Old  Party"  of  President  Lin 
coln  and  Ben  Butler. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  469 

I  had  found  out  enough  to  satisfy  me  that  the  Repub 
lican  party  had  corrupted  decency  and  the  sacred  fran 
chise  in  the  city  of  Pueblo,  but  that  is  not  saying  that 
the  Democrats  wouldn't  have  done  the  same  had  they 
been  in  control  of  the  political  machinery. 

In  Denver,  where  the  Democrats  had  been  in  power 
for  many  years,  they  had  carried  corruption  with  such 
a  high  hand  that  even  a  Pattersonian  anarchist  of  the 
sic-em-tige  kind  ought  to  hang  his  head  in  shame,  and 
blush  every  time  he  sees  a  statue  of  the  Goddess  of 
Liberty. 

At  one  of  these  corrupt  elections  in  Denver,  I  was  in 
structed  to  put  on  "bum"  clothes  and  join  the  hobo  gang 
in  the  slums,  so  as  to  secure  evidence.  I  only  voted  a 
few  times, — eight  in  all, — three  times  before  the  same 
judge  of  election.  Others  of  my  hobo  chums  voted  all 
day  as  they  needed  some  "easy"  money. 

The  notorious  Jack  Hall  of  the  old  Clifton  Hotel  had 
charge  of  the  Democratic  slush  fund,  where  I  did  my 
voting  that  day.  My  earnings  for  the  day  only  amounted 
to  $1.75,  at  25  cents  a  vote,  as  the  paymaster  skipped 
out  with  the  funds  after  my  last  vote  was  deposited, 
just  before  the  polls  closed.  On  finding  out  that  the 
"money-guy"  had  vanished,  there  was  much  swearing 
and  gnashing  of  teeth  among  these  poor  downtrodden 
American  citizens  who  help  make  our  laws. 

Denver  has  made  great  strides  though,  in  the  matter 
of  buying  votes,  since  the  time  that  Wolcott  put  up  his 
good  hard  cash  to  become  a  Republican  senator  of  these 
glorious  United  States,  where  every  man  is  a  king,  with 
the  sacred  right  to  vote.  At  that  time  the  Republicans 


470  "A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

had  control  of  the  city,  it  being  about  sixteen  years  ago. 
But  at  that  time  they  had  no  "scab"  voters;  they  paid 
union  prices, — a  new  two  dollar  bill  for  each  vote. 

My  next  operation  was  trying  to  run  down  a  hard 
case  in  the  State  of  Sonora,  Old  Mexico. 

Operative  J.  V.  Marke,  now  one  of  -the  Asst.  Supts. 
of  the  Denver  office,  had  just  worked  up  a  big  steal  in 
Colorado  City,  Colorado,  and  this  man  was  wanted  in 
connection  with  that  case.  He  had  been  seen  by  a 
traveling  man  at  a  fiesta  in  the  town  of  Magdalena, 
Mexico,  and  had  told  of  owning  a  placer  mine  out  in  the 
La  Briesa  mining  country,  about  100  miles  east  of  the 
railroad  town  of  Magdalena.  But  as  to  the  name  he 
was  using  down  in  Mexico  we  were  ignorant;  therefore 
I  had  only  his  description  to  work  on. 

In  Magdalena,  a  small  city,  I  failed  to  get  a  trace  of 
my  man,  as  at  the  time  he  was  seen  there  the  city  was 
full  of  strangers  attending  the  fiesta. 

From  here  I  went  overland  by  stage,  private  convey 
ances  and  on  horseback  to  the  La  Briesa  mining  camp 
owned  by  Col.  W.  C.  Green.  From  La  Briesa  I  scoured 
the  wild  mountain  regions  for  fifty  miles  around,  where- 
ever  gold  had  ever  been  found.  I  did  this  on  horseback 
and  had  some  trying  experiences  with  the  half-starved 
Mexican  ponies  breaking  down. 

I  concluded  that  my  man  had  never  been  in  this  La 
Briesa  country. 

On  returning  to  Magdalena  I  boarded  a  train  for  the 
south  and  scoured  the  country  through  to  the  city  of 
Guaymas  on  the  Gulf  of  California.  In  Hermosillo,  the 
capital  of  Sonora,  I  enjoyed  life  for  a  week,  and  also 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  471 

took  in  the  dives  and  tough  places  where  my  man  would 
naturally  hang  out,  as  he  was  a  gambler  by  profession. 

There  was  great  excitement  throughout  the  State  of 
Sonora  over  the  Yaqui  Indian  war,  Indian  prisoners 
were  being  brought  into  the  capital  and  shot,  then  their 
bodies  hung  up  to  trees  to  rot  down,  it  being  a  crime 
to  remove  a  corpse  from  its  necktie  swing.  I  could  have 
seen  five  of  these  warriors  shot  and  hung  up  about  five 
miles  north  of  Hermosillo,  but  I  had  no  desire  to  witness 
the  scene. 

In  Nogales,  Arizona,  on  the  Mexican  border,  I  found 
a  hotel  proprietress  who  had  seen  my  man  as  he  was 
leaving  Mexico.  He  had  stayed  at  her  hotel  while  wait 
ing  for  the  northbound  train. 

From  here  I  went  to  Naco  on  the  train,  thence  back 
into  Old  Mexico  to  the  large  mining  camp  of  Cananea; 
thence  back  to  Bisbee  and  Douglas,  Arizona.  In  Doug 
las  I  met  my  old  cowboy  friend  Jim  East  and  his  good 
wife. 

After  putting  my  case  in  the  hands  of  the  Arizona 
Rangers,  I  returned  to  Denver,  stopping  off  a  few  days 
at  Santa  Fe,  New  Mexico. 

Soon  after  my  arrival  in  Denver  the  Captain  of  the 
Arizona  Rangers  wrote  me  that  they  had  my  man  located 
and  asked  if  they  should  arrest  him.  This  letter  was 
turned  over  to  our  clients  in  Colorado  Springs  so  they 
could  make  their  own  terms  with  the  Arizona  Rangers. 
This  ended  my  connection  with  the  operation.  I  had 
gone  under  the  name  of  Chas.  Tony  Lloyd  on  this  trip. 

I  reached  Denver  just  in  time  to  see  the  State  Legis 
lature  seat  Peabody  in  the  Governor's  chair  for  a  second 


472  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

term,  in  spite  of  the  protests  that  his  opponent  Alva 
Adams  had  been  elected  and  was  entitled  to  the  seat. 

It  was  predicted  that  Governor  Jas.  H.  Peabody  would 
be  assassinated  if  the  legislature  confirmed  his  election; 
therefore  the  Dickenson  agency  was  called  on  to  furnish 
two  bodyguards  for  the  governor,  who  could  shoot 
straight  and  were  not  afraid  to  die.  Yours  Truly  and 
old  Colts  45  were  selected  as  one  of  these  bodyguards 
and  we  were  itching  to  plant  six  45  caliber  bullets  where 
they  would  do  the  most  good  for  society.  Mr.  Pace,  one 
of  Capt.  John  Howard's  patrolmen,  was  the  other  body 
guard. 

After  the  legislature  had  seated  Governor  Peabody,  a 
big  reception  was  held  at  night  in  the  Peabody  mansion 
on  Capitol  Hill,  and  there  I  experienced  a  touch  of  high- 
life,  and  at  the  same  time  had  a  couple  of  years  added 
to  my  life  by  the  governor's  pretty  daughter,  Miss  Jessie, 
pinning  a  carnation  to  my  coat  and  smiling  her  sweetest 
while  doing  so. 

In  order  to  keep  peace  in  the  Republican  household, 
Governor  Peabody  resigned  his  office  later,  and  the 
legislature  appointed  Jesse  McDonald,  a  good  Republi 
can  from  Leadville,  as  the  new  executive.  Thus  did  I 
lose  my  job  and  the  chance  of  high  living,  also  the  op 
portunity  of  killing  members  of  Western  Federation  of 
Dynamiters,  or  the  spilling  of  my  own  Texas  blood  for 
the  benefit  of  society  and  the  corrupt  politicians. 

A  few  days  later  I  was  en  route  to  Sheridan,  Wyoming, 
to  work  on  cowboys  and  cattlemen  to  secure  secrets  of 
a  "Frenzied  Finance"  nature  for  a  live  stock  [commis 
sion  trust  of  the  east. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  473 

I  was  given  a  letter  of  introduction  to  Cbas  Long,  a 
cattle  inspector  and  deputy  sheriff  at  Sheridan.  Mr. 
Long  was  a  cowboy  of  the  old  school,  and  assisted  me 
in  my  work. 

In  Sheridan  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  an  old  Texas 
cowboy  by  the  name  of  George  Carroll.  He  was  now 
a  prosperous  cattleman.  I  went  with  him  and  his  young 
son  to  their  cattle  ranch  on  the  Rosebud  river  in  Mon 
tana,  and  while  on  this  trip  I  lived  my  old  cowboy  life 
over  again  by  eating  fine  fat  beef  stuck  on  a  stick  and 
roasted  over  a  campfire. 

After  about  a  month  spent  in  and  around  Sheridan,  I 
secured  the  coveted  sworn  affidavit  from  the  McKinley 
brothers,  cattlemen.  But  I  sweat  blood  until  the  affi 
davits  were  in  my  pocket,  as  the  "boys"  didn't  want  to 
mix  up  in  the  affair  as  it  was  no  fight  of  theirs,  they 
being  honorable  men. 

I  then  returned  home,  wondering  what  the  next  oper 
ation  would  be. 

After  a  short  stay  in  Denver  I  was  detailed  on  a  case 
in  Colorado  Springs,  which  turned  out  to  be  a  two 
weeks'  pleasure  trip  in  that  noted  summer  resort.  The 
tourist  season  was  then  at  its  height,  it  being  midsum 
mer;  therefore  my  stay  in  that  clean  little  prohibition 
city  was  a  pleasure  indeed. 

The  work  was  in  the  nature  of  an  investigation  to 
decide  who  had  stolen  a  big  lot  of  street  car  tickets, 
though  only  a  few  of  them  had  been  used. 

The  operation  was  being  conducted  by  Mr.  G.  A. 
Carpp,  the  president  of  a  principal  national  bank.  I  was 
assisted  by  Mr.  O.  J.  Lewis,  Mr.  Wm.  Boyd,  Dr.  Tice 


474:  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

t 

and  Supt.  Latham  of  the  street  railway  system  of  that 

place. 

While  in  Colorado  Springs  I  visited  my  old  friends, 
Postmaster  Dana,  Chief  of  Police  Alex.  Adams;  the 
cowboy  author,  Andy  Adams,  and  last  but  not  least,  C. 
W.  Kurie,  the  mining  man,  and  his  lovely  wife  and  sons. 

Mr.  Kurie  and  his  eldest  son  gave  me  my  first  auto 
mobile  ride  in  their  brand  new  $4000.00  "Red  Devil." 
I  enjoyed  it  immensely. 

As  the  result  of  my  work  a  high  up  employe  of  the 
Electric  Ry.  Co.  lost  his  job.  I  felt  sorry  for  the  poor 
fellow  when  I  accused  him  of  being  the  guilty  man.  The 
blood  rushed  out  of  his  face  and  he  became  as  pale  as 
a  ghost.  His  ears  became  so  transparent  after  the  blood 
had  left  them,  that  I  could  almost  see  through  them. 
But  the  head  officials  had  no  disposition  to  prosecute 
him. 

I  had  previously  confronted  other  trusted  employes  on 
whom  a  slight  suspicion  rested,  and  accused  them  of  the 
theft  as  though  I  had  good  proof,  but  they  looked  me 
square  in  the  face  and  showed  their  innocence  by  every 
look  and  action.  Among  these  were  Mr.  Carpp's  young 
nephew  and  on  old  Union  soldier  eighty  years  of  age. 
It  was  comical  to  see  this  old  hero  of  bloody  battles  climb 
upon  his  dignity  when  accused. 

I  then  bade  my  friends  goodby  and  returned  to  the 
Queen  City  of  the  Plains,  Denver. 

Supt.  J.  S.  Kaiser  at  once  detailed  me  on  an  opera 
tion  in  Roswell,  New  Mexico,  just  the  place  I  wanted 
to  visit,  as  I  hadn't  been  there  for  twenty-three  years. 

Although  my  instructions  from  Asst.  Supt.  "Hank" 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  475 

Geary  who  had  charge  of  the  case  was  to  do  nothing  to 
retard  justice,  as  the  agency  couldn't  afford  to  work 
against  his  "royal  nibs,"  Uncle  Samuel;  still,  knowing 
my  failing,  I  felt  sure  that  once  in  the  battle  I  would 
fight  to  win,  even  though  my  big  Uncle  did  get  his  corns 
stepped  on. 

Before  starting  on  my  trip  to  Roswell,  the  manager  of 
our  six  western  offices,  Mr.  Jas.  McCartney,  called  me 
into  his  private  office  to  inform  me  that  I  had  been  pro 
moted  to  the  position  of  assistant  superintendent  under 
Supt.  John  S.  Kaiser  of  the  Denver  office;  that  on  my 
return  from  New  Mexico  I  was  to  take  the  place  of  Asst. 
Supt.  Carver,  who  had  just  resigned  to  accept  a  place 
under  Special  Agent  Ben  Williams  of  the  A.  T.  &  S. 
F.  Ry. 

I  told  Mr.  McCartney  that  I  didn't  want  the  position 
of  assistant  superintendent,  but  he  wouldn't  take  no  for 
an  answer.  He  told  me  to  take  a  week  to  think  the 
matter  over  carefully,  and  then  to  write  my  decision  to 
Supt.  John  S.  Kaiser,  so  that  my  letter  could  be  forwarded 
to  the  eastern  headquarters. 

After  reaching  Roswell,  New  Mexico,  I  wrote  a  letter 
refusing  the  promotion,  under  the  pretense  that  I  didn't 
think  office  work  would  suit  my  complexion  after  having 
led  an  active  outdoor  life  so  long;  though  in  truth  I  re 
fused  it  because  I  didn't  consider  my  education  finished. 
For  to  accept  the  assistant  superintendency,  would  be 
like  a  pupil  in  a  college  taking  a  position  as  assistant 
professor.  The  facts  are,  I  started  out  in  the  Dickenson 
school  to  serve  fifteen  years.  Then  the  time  was  extended 
to  twenty  years,  as  I  found  there  was  much  more  to 
learn  of  the  world's  ways. 


476  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

On  starting  out  with  the  Dickensons,  I  had  just  fin 
ished  "fifteen  years  on  the  hurricane  deck  of  a  Spanish 
pony,"  in  the  strenuous  cowboy  school,  and  I  concluded 
that  another  fifteen  years  in  the  equally  strenuous 
Dickenson  College  would  complete  my  education;  but 
this  school  was  found  to  be  great  and  broad,  so  that  a 
twenty  years'  course  would  be  short  enough. 

Boarding  a  Colorado  Southern  Ry.  train,  I  started  for 
Amarillo,  Tex.  There  a  transfer  was  made  onto  a  Pecos 
Valley  train  of  the  A.  T.  &  S.  F.  system. 

The  journey  from  Amarillo,  Texas,  to  Portales,  New 
Mexico,  an  all  day  ride  in  a  railway  coach,  was  over  the 
level  staked  plains,  and  was  a  rare  treat  to  me.  Over 
this  same  ground  I  had  ridden  horseback,  with  not  a 
single  inhabitant  between  the  L  X  ranch  twenty  miles 
north  of  Amarillo,  southwesterly  to  Roswell,  New  Mex 
ico,  a  distance  of  about  200  miles.  This  was  in  1877 
and  1878.  Now  my  train  speeds  along  through  a  coun 
try  of  fine  white  ranch  and  farm  houses,  with  a  wind 
mill  on  nearly  every  section  of  land.  What  a  wonderful 
change  in  about  twenty-seven  years. 

On  coming  in  sight  of  the  Paloduro  (head  of  the  Red 
river)  Canyon  to  our  left,  I  saw  the  once  favorite  camp 
ing  place  for  Indian  and  Mexican  buffalo  hunters.  Here 
after  the  New  Year  in  1877,  W.  C.  Moore  (the  cowboy 
outlaw  seen  in  Alaska)  Jack  Ryan,  Vanduzan  and  myself 
camped,  down  in  the  breaks  of  the  Paloduro,  where  Van- 
duzan  had  killed  a  fat  bear.  And  that  day  I  saw  my 
first  Indian  buffalo  hunt  with  lances. 

Leaving  my  companions  in  camp,  I  had  joined  a  band 
of  fifty  Apache  Indians  and  we  rode  out  to  a  large  herd 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  477 

of  buffalo  which  were  grazing  where  my  train  is  now 
gliding  along.  The  herd  numbered  about  20,000  to 
50,000  head.  When  within  half  a  mile  of  the  woolly 
beasts  our  Indian  chief  placed  us  all  abreast  close  to 
gether  so  as  to  fool  the  buffaloes  who  couldn't  figure 
out  what  kind  of  an  animal  we  were.  They  would  have 
stampeded  from  the  sight  of  horsemen  approaching  them 
in  a  haphazard  fashion;  but  as  it  was,  we  were  within 
100  yards  of  them  before  they  broke  into  a  run.  Then 
the  race  of  life  and  death  began.  We  were  soon  right 
in  the  midst  of  the  herd  at  the  tail  end.  For  awhile  I  did 
nothing  but  watch  the  Indians  do  their  expert  lancing. 
Each  buck  would  run  up  by  the  side  of  a  buffalo  and 
reaching  over,  stick  the  sharp  steel  or  stone  lance,  which 
were  fastened  to  long  poles,  into  the  animal's  loin.  Down 
the  poor  brute  would  go,  helpless,  but  not  killed.  Then 
Mr.  Buck  would  select  another  and  another  victim  for 
slaughter. 

One  old  grey-haired  Indian  buck  on  a  large  yellow 
horse,  leaned  far  over  in  his  stirrup  and  drove  the  lance 
home,  but  his  weight  on  the  handle  broke  it,  and  off  he 
tumbled  and  rolled  over  and  over  in  the  short  buffalo 
grass.  I  happened  to  be  following  close  behind.  It  was 
comical  to  see  this  Indian,  after  he  had  gained  his  feet, 
dodging  the  buffaloes  which  were  bringing  up  the  rear. 
They  tried  to  keep  out  of  his  way,  but  in  his  excitement 
he  would  run  in  front  of  them.  One  old  bull  jumped 
almost  over  his  head  and  knocked  him  down.  Then  he 
sat  still  and  the  rest  went  around  him. 

At  the  windup  I  emptied  my  Colts  45  pistol  and  killed 
three  bulls;  my  aim  being  just  at  the  lower  edge  of  the 


478  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

hump.  Here  the  bullet  enters  the  "lights"  and  does  the 
work. 

After  the  battle  was  over  there  were  several  hundred 
crippled  buffalo  scattered  along  the  trail.  They  were  un 
able  to  rise  to  their  feet,  but  otherwise  much  alive. 

I  remained  to  see  the  several  hundred  bucks  and  squaws 
who  had  followed  behind,  kill  the  wounded  animals. 
Then  I  rode  back  to  camp  in  time  for  the  bearmeat 
supper.  Of  course  I  had  brought  along  the  humps  of 
the  buffalo  killed  by  me. 

Soon  the  train  rounded  the  head  of  Paloduro  Canyon, 
and  here  to  the  right,  a  few  hundred  yards,  stood  the 
log  cabin  house  built  by  the  Dyer  brothers  (brothers-in- 
law  of  Cattle  King  Charlie  Goodnight)  in  1878;  this 
being  the  first  house  built  between  the  L  X  ranch  and 
Roswell.  At  that  time  Charlie  Goodnight  had  his  ranch 
at  the  mouth  of  Paloduro  Canyon  about  twenty-five  miles 
further  east.  All  around  this  old  Dyer  log  house  now 
waived  fields  of  ripening  grain,  and  nearby  stood  up-to- 
date  farm  homes. 

Finally  we  crossed  Running  Water,  thence  past  a  large 
"dry"  lake  which  had  looked  good  to  me  in  the  summer 
of  1881.  At  that  time  I  was  returning  with  the  rem 
nants  of  my  men  from  a  raid  after  "Billy  the  Kid"  and 
his  gang  and  the  cattle  which  they  had  stolen  and  run 
into  Lincoln  County,  New  Mexico,  the  winter  previous. 
This  raid  had  resulted  in  the  killing  and  capture  of  the 
whole  gang. 

We  struck  this  "dry"  lake  with  2,500  head  of  famished 
cattle  which  had  had  no  water  for  two  days  and  nights ; 
hence  were  almost  crazy.  We  and  our  mounts  were 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  479 

about  dead  for  water,  too.  The  bottom  of  this  lake  bed 
.contained  about  two  feet  of  rainwater,  which  proved  a 
godsend  to  us.  We  had  been  lost,  but  wouldn't  give  up 
the  ship  by  turning  the  cattle  loose. 

My  cowboys  were  Frank  Clifford  ("Big  Foot  Wal 
lace,"  afterwards  an  outlaw),  Tom  Emory  and  Lon. 
Chambers.  The  last  two  were  in  the  battle  which  put 
"Billy  the  Kid"  out  of  business,  and  placed  two  of  his 
gang,  Charlie  Bowdre  and  Tom  O'Falliard  under  the 
sod.  They  and  Jim  East^  another  of  my  men,  were  with 
Sheriff  Pat  Garrett  when  the  fight  took  place. 

On  flew  the  train  over  familiar  ground,  finally  stop 
ping  in  the  lively  town  of  Portales.  Here  at  Las  Por- 
tales  Lake,  "Billy  the  Kid"  and  his  gang  had  their  head 
quarters  in  the  early  days,  while  stealing  cattle.  At  a 
fresh  water  spring  coming  out  of  a  cliff  of  rock  they 
had  a  camp  and  a  stone  corral. 

From  here  the  train  descended  from  the  staked  plains 
down  into  the  Pecos  Valley,  and  in  the  evening  dumped 
me  out  in  the  beautiful  little  city  of  Roswell,  New  Mex 
ico. 

Late  that  evening  I  walked  down  the  main  street  of 
Roswell,  and  there  in  front  of  a  real  estate  office  sat 
my  old  cowboy  friend  Tom  Emory. 

But  seeing  Emory  so  often  in  the  weeks  following 
brought  back  memories  of  bygone  days;  for  right  here 
in  this  very  spot  in  the  spring  of  1881  I  had  left  him  to 
guard  the  steers  which  we  had  recovered  from  parties 
to  whom  they  had  been  sold  by  "Billy  the  Kid,"  while  I 
took  Lon  Chambers  and  "Big  Foot  Wallace"  down  the 
Pecos  river  to  attend  the  roundup  on  John  Chisolm's 
range,  in  search  of  other  stolen  cattle. 


480  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

At  that  time,  John  Chisolm,  whose  home  ranch  was 
five  miles  below  Roswell,  and  which  is  now  the  beauti 
ful  home  of  millionaire  J.  J.  Hagerman,  ranged  60,000 
cattle,  where  now  live  nearly  that  many  human  beings. 

And  within  a  stone's  throw  of  where  Tom  Emory  now 
sits  smoking,  stands  the  same  adobe  residence  where 
Emory  took  his  meals  with  the  family  of  Capt.  J.  C. 
Lea, — one  of  nature's  genuine  noblemen,  now  dead, — 
during  my  absence. 

In  those  days  Roswell  contained  two  stores,  one 
owned  by  Capt.  J.  C.  Lea  and  the  others  by  a  Mr.  Cos- 
grove.  There  were,  not  to  exceed  a  dozen  houses  in  the 
town,  and  Emory  used  to  graze  his  steers  where  the 
busy  streets  now  are,  and  watch  them  from  the  Lea  store 
where  he  was  wont  to  sit  and  smoke  in  the  shade,  just  as 
he  is  doing  now. 

During  the  forenoon  the  ((day  after  my  arrival,  I 
stepped  into  the  Citizens  National  Bank  to  make  a  de 
posit,  and  my  old  friend  John  W.  Poe,  the  president  of 
the  institution  stepped  to  the  window  to  wait  on  me.  I 
gave  him  my  name  as  Chas.  Tony  Lloyd  and  this  threw 
him  off  the  track.  We  met  several  times  afterwards  and 
he  never  recognized  me. 

Seeing  John  W.  Poe  brought  back  other  memories,  for 
I  was  the  direct  cause  of  his  first  coming  to  New  Mexico, 
where  he  has  lived  ever  since  and  accumulated  an  inde 
pendent  fortune  by  having  the  foresight  to  see  the 
future  of  Roswell  and  the  Pecos  Valley. 

In  the  winter  of  1880  I  had  followed  a  herd  of  cattle 
supposed  to  be  stolen,  to  Las  Cruces  on  the  Rio  Grande 
river,  and  there  from  the  notorious  desperado  "Hurricane 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  481 

Bill"  I  found  out  their  destination  was  Tombstone,  Ariz. 
Then  I  wrote  to  my  boss,  W.  C.  Moore  in  Texas,  to 
send  a  good  man  by  rail  and  stage  to  Tombstone,  Ariz., 
to  investigate  this  cattle  herd,  as  I  couldn't  go  that  far 
from  my  outfit,  then  in  White  Oaks. 

John  W.  Poe  was  a  deputy  U.  S.  Marshal  in  Mobeeta, 
Texas,  with  a  name  for  honor  and  bravery,  so  Moore 
employed  him  for  the  trip  to  Arizona;  but  he  reached 
there  too  late,  the  herd  having  been  scattered  over  that 
wild  country  and  all  trace  of  them  lost.  Then  Moore 
ordered  Poe  to  Dona  Ana  and  Lincoln  Counties,  New 
Mexico,  to  prosecute  the  parties  who  had  "stood  in"  with 
"Billy  the  Kid"  in  the  stealing  of  L  X  cattle,  as  per  my 
reports. 

Later  when  Pat.  Garrett's  term  of  office  expired,  John 
W.  Poe  was  elected  sheriff  of  Lincoln  County,  which 
then  embraced  a  wild  territory  almost  200  miles  square. 

After  becoming  settled  in  Roswell,  I  called  on  Attor 
ney  W.  W.  Gatewood,  then  my  operation  was  started. 

I  made  many  new  acquaintances  here  and  was  taken 
out  buggy  riding  often,  among  the  flowing  artesian  wells 
and  lovely  farms  and  orchards.  It  was  indeed  a  treat  to 
see  the  change  from  an  untamed  cattle  country  to  fruit 
and  flowers.  And  a  drive  through  "Lovers  Lane,"  the 
former  ranch  home  of  John  W.  Poe,  on  a  hot  summer's 
day  is  next  to  paradise,  especially  if  the  girl  is  a  "good 
looker." 

In  Roswell  I  became  well  acquainted  with  Gen.  Sher 
man  Bell,  who  dished  out  to  the  Western  Federation  of 
Miners  in  Colorado,  some  of  their  own  bitter  medicine. 
They  made  a  great  howl  about  being  deported  from  their 


482  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

homes,  contrary  to  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States ; 
but  in  these  howls  they  failed  to  mention  the  hundreds 
of  non-union  men  termed  "scabs,"  dragged  from  the 
bosom  of  their  families  and  set  adrift  without  food  or 
shelter  in  dead  of  winter  by  them.  I  know  whereof  I 
speak,  for  I  helped  them  do  it  in  the  Coeur  D'Alenes,  and 
the  only  crime  committed  by  the  poor  "scabs"  was  try 
ing  to  earn  an  honest  living  by  the  sweat  of  their  brows. 

This  is  not  meant  to  condemn  all  members  of  the 
Western  Federation  of  Miners,  as  that  would  be  unjust. 
I  venture  to  say  that  half  of  the  members  of  that  great 
and  powerful  organization  are  kindhearted,  law-abiding 
citizens  who  are  deluded  and  led  astray  by  rank,  blood 
thirsty  blatherskites. 

Gen.  Sherman  Bell  was  in  Roswell  for  his  health,  and 
to  hobnob  with  cowboy  Charlie  Ballard  and  U.  S.  Dist. 
Att.  Maj.  Llewellyn,  who  had  helped  him  and  "Teddy" 
Roosevelt  storm  San  Juan  hill  in  Cuba. 

I  remained  in  Roswell  over  a  month,  and  before  leav 
ing,  our  side  came  out  with  flying  colors,  while  poor 
old  Uncle  Samuel  took  a  back  seat.  But  during  this  legal 
battle  I  learned  some  new  lessons  in  high  finance  and 
official  trickery,  which  would  have  caused  President 
Roosevelt's  model  teeth  and  massive  jaws  to  snap  to 
gether  like  a  steel  trap,  could  he  have  peeped  behind  the 
curtains. 

One  day  previous  to  my  departure,  I  couldn't  resist  the 
temptation  of  making  myself  known  to  my  old  cowboy 
chums,  Phelps  and  Tom  White,  nephews  of  the  old  time 
Texas  Cattle  Kings,  George  and  Jim  Littlefield;  the 
White  boys  being  now  wealthy. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  483 

Of  course  we  had  to  "hark  back"  to  old  times,  and  in 
doing  so,  Phelps  White  added  a  little  new  history  to  my 
cowboy  life. 

In  the  late  Spring  of  1877  at  St.  Joe,  Texas,  mounted 
on  my  pet  racehorse  "Whisky  Pete,"  and  wearing  a  satis 
fied  smile  decorated  with  a  sprouting  mustache,  I  hired 
out  to  the  boss  of  one  of  the  Littlefield  trail  herds  num 
bering  3,700  head  of  mixed  cattle,  en  route  to  Dodge 
City,  Kansas.  I  was  given  the  job  of  horse  wrangler, — 
taking  care  of  the  "ramutha,"  about  100  head  of  saddle 
horses. 

In  crossing  through  the  ten  mile  belt  of  heavy  black 
jack  timber  near  Red  River,  which  is  the  Texas  and 
Indian  Territory  line,  the  boss  detailed  Phelps  White, 
who  was  then  too  young  to  support  a  mustache,  though 
old  enough  to  "tote"  a  Winchester  rifle  and  a  Colts  45 
pistol,  to  help  me  through  the  "blackjacks." 

I  was  trailing  the  "ramutha"  several  miles  behind  the 
cattle  herd,  taking  my  time,  when  young  White  and  his 
heavy  artillery  appeared  on  the  scene.  He  was  informed 
that  his  help  was  not  needed  as  the  horses  were  no 
trouble.  Still,  he  remained  and  helped  me  through  the 
timber. 

And  now  after  keeping  silent  twenty-eight  years  he 
comes  out  with  the  truth  that  I  was  suspected  of  being  a 
horse  thief,  and  they  feared  that  my  Indian  Territory  pals 
might  be  in  hiding  in  this  "crosstimber"  to  help  me  steal 
the  whole  "ramutha."  Hence  the  boss  sending  him 
back  to  help  me. 

They  could  hardly  be  blamed  for  their  suspicions,  for 
I  was  a  tough  looking  kid  and  had  spent  the  previous 


484  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

winter  among  the  Chickasaw  Indians  in  the  Indian  Terri 
tory. 

While  with  Tom  and  Phelps  White  they  introduced 
me  to  my  old  friend  Tom  Emory,  and  I  found  out  that 
he  had  once  recognized  me  down  in  Casas  Grandes,  Old 
Mexico,  but  having  heard  that  I  was  with  the  Dickensons 
he  thought  it  best  not  to  speak  to  me. 

I  was  also  made  known  to  my  old  friends  J.  S.  Lea, 
now  county  treasurer  of  this,  Chaves  County,  and  Andy 
M.  Robertson,  a  prosperous  business  man  of  Roswell. 

Phelps  White  pointed  out  to  me  old  "Uncle  Henry" 
Stephens  whom  I  knew  in  my  boyhood  days  when  he 
was  one  of  the  largest  cattle  drovers  of  the  old  Chisholm 
Trail,  between  southern  Texas  and  Kansas.  He  now 
represents  a  Kansas  City  commission  firm,  as  his  great 
wealth  has  taken  wings  and  "flewd"  away. 

In  leaving  Roswell  on  my  return  to  Denver,  I  [con 
cluded  to  try  J.  W.  Stockard's  new  automobile  passen 
ger  line  over  the  107  miles  of  unsettled  country  to  Tor- 
ranee,  at  the  junction  of  the  new  Rock  Island  and  New 
Mexico  Central  railways.  I  did  this  so  as  to  visit  my 
pets  at  Santa  Fe. 

Bright  and  early  one  morning  we  started  with  the 
big  Red  Devil  and  the  Little  Red  Imp  loaded  with  gaso 
line  and  half  a  dozen  passengers.  It  was  raining  hard 
and  the  mud  flew  thick  and  fast.  About  night  we  had 
reached  Charlie  Ballard's  cattle  ranch  fifteen  miles  out 
of  Roswell,  and  a  few  of  us  hired  a  rancher  to  take  us 
back  to  the  starting  point  in  his  carriage.  It  was  late 
in  the  night  when  we  reached  Roswell. 

This  was  my  second  and  last  ride  in  an  automobile. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  485 

The  trip  was  worth  something  though,  as  I  learned  some 
new  .cuss  words. 

I  thought  of  the  story  about  the  western  farmer  who 
had  never  heard  of  automobiles  and  the  green  cowboy 
who  had  never  seen  a  hay  mower,  but  had  heard  of  auto 
mobiles.  The  angry  farmer  was  on  his  way  to  the  cross 
road  town  to  get  an  unruly  hay  mower  fixed,  at  a  time 
when  his  hay  needed  cutting.  He  met  the  cowboy  whose 
hide  was  full  of  "red  licker,"  who  stopped  him  and 
asked : 

"Say  mister,  is  that  a  au-to-mo-bele  ?" 

The  hayseeder  replied:  "I  dunno, — the  d — d  thing 
au-to-mo-hay,  but  it  won't." 

That  was  the  way  with  the  Stockard  Red  Devils, — 
they  au-to  have  landed  us  in  Torrance,  but  they  didn't, 
thus  spoiling  my  chance  of  swapping  smiles  with  Eat- 
Em-Up-Jake. 

Next  morning  I  boarded  a  train  for  Denver,  return 
ing  over  the  same  route  that  I  had  come. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

A  COWBOY  OPERATION  IN  EASTERN  OREGON — A  TRIP 

TO  SOMBRERETE,   OLD   MEXICO A  VlSIT  TO  THE 

COEUR  D'ALENES  WITH  JAMES  MCPARLAND — LAY 
ING  FOR  TRAIN  HOLDUPS  IN  NEBRASKA — AN  OPERA 
TION  IN  MEXICO  CITY. 

On  returning  home  from  Roswell  I  was  sent  at  once 
to  Santa  Fe,  New  Mexico,  in  response  to  a  telegram 
from  Absolom  Stuck,  a  wealthy  retired  merchant  of  that 
place  who  wanted  a  shrewd  detective  sent  on  the  first 
train. 

On  arriving  in  the  Ancient  City  of  the  Holy  Faith, 
I  found  Mr.  Stuck  greatly  worked  up  over  the  receipt 
of  a  threatening  letter  demanding  that  a  large  sum  of 
money  be  dropped  by  him  at  a  certain  out-of-the-way 
place  at  midnight,  on  a  designated  night,  or  he  would  be 
killed  and  his  fine  residence  blown  up. 

Deputy  U.  S.  Marshal  Fred  Fornoff  and  U.  S.  Postal 
Inspector  A.  P.  Smithers  had  started  to  work  on  the 
case.  I  joined  them  and  we  three  worked  together  for 
the  next  couple  of  weeks. 

We  finally  decided  that  the  letter  had  been  written  as 
a  bluff,  with  a  chance  that  Mr.  Stuck  would  get  scared 
and  drop  the  cash  in  the  roadway,  as  requested;  but  we 
advised  that  a  guard  be  kept  around  the  residence  at 
night,  though  I  didn't  think  that  an  attempt  would  be 
made  on  Mr.  Stuck's  life,  which  has  proven  correct,  as 

486 


'A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  487 

the  old  gentleman  is  very  much  alive  up  to  the  present 
time. 

On  leaving  Denver  I  had  wired  to  Silver  City,  New 
Mexico,  for  my  daughter  Viola  to  meet  me  in  Santa  Fe. 
She  had  just  completed  her  education  in  the  Territorial 
Normal  College  of  that  place,  and  therefore  was  at 
leisure. 

Mounted  on  offsprings  of  my  race  mare  Lulu,  Viola 
and  I  had  some  exciting  races  after  jackrabbits,  led  by 
Eat  'Em  Up  Jake  and  Klondike. 

Viola  enjoyed  the  races  after  the  jackrabbits,  but  she 
hated  Eat  'Em  Up  Jake  for  his  bloodthirsty  cruelty  in 
killing  the  poor  bunnies  after  having  them  in  his  power. 

After  a  pleasant  two  weeks  spent  with  Viola  and  my 
Pets,  at  Mr.  Stuck's  expense  I  returned  to  Denver, 
thankful  to  the  gentleman  who  had  sent  the  threatening 
letter.  It  is  only  the  ill  winds  which  scatter  roses  and 
thorns  in  the  pathway  of  a  Dickenson  sleuth.  On  this 
occasion  the  thorns  were  omitted  and  placed  under  Mr. 
Stuck's  feet. 

A  day  in  Denver  and  I  was  off  for  Steamboat  Springs 
in  the  heart  of  the  Rockies,  to  investigate  the  burning 
of  a  lumber  mill  for  R.  H.  Manning  and  his  associates 
in  the  First  National  Bank  of  that  place. 

A  lovely  trip  over  the  mountain  range  on  the  new 
Moffat  Railway  brought  me  to  the  terminus  at  Hot  Sul 
phur  Springs.  From  there  I  had  to  make  an  eighty  mile 
stage  ride  to  Steamboat  Springs  near  the  corner  of  Utah 
and  Wyoming. 

While  on  this  operation  I  made  trips  into  the  moun 
tains  on  deer  hunts. 


488  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

"  i 

In  the  town  of  Yampa  I  was  introduced  to  Attorney 
F.  E.  Brooks,  one  of  Colorado's  U.  S.  Congressmen,  but  I 
didn't  tell  him  of  how  I  dodged  him  and  played  his  client 
Duke,  in  Tucson,  A.  T.,  "double"  during  the  Clark- 
Duke  mining  suit. 

After  a  couple  of  weeks  work  in  the  mountains  I 
placed  the  crime  of  setting  the  Manning  mill  afire  at  the 
door  of  another  mill  man,  and  a  bitter  enemy.  But  as 
he  had  evidently  committed  the  crime  alone,  I  concluded 
that  it  would  require  several  months'  time  at  great  ex 
pense,  to  get  evidence  sufficient  to  convict.  I  had  gained 
the  friendship  of  this  no  doubt  guilty  party,  and  he  and 
I  hunted  deer  together. 

On  meeting  the  clients  in  Steamboat  Springs  I  ad 
vised  against  retaining  me  there  unless  they  felt  willing 
to  spend  a  large  sum  of  money  for  a  conviction,  with  only 
a  chance  of  success,  as  we  might  fail.  They  agreed  to 
my  advice,  and  I  boarded  a  stage  for  Wolcott  Station 
on  the  D.  &  R.  G.  Ry.,  a  distance  of  over  eighty  miles 
over  a  route  which  I  had  traveled  on  a  previous  opera 
tion. 

A  week's  rest  in  Denver  and  I  was  away  for  a  long 
operation  in  the  far-off  golden  west. 

On  arriving  in  Portland,  Oregon,  I  called  at  our  office 
there  and  consulted  with  the  Supt,  Capt.  Jas.  Bevins 
and  the  Asst.  Supt.  D.  G.  Doogan,  both  of  whom  I  was 
already  acquainted  with. 

An  attempt  had  just  been  made  near  Seattle,  Wash 
ington,  to  rob  a  Great  Northern  Ry.  train,  and  Capt. 
Bevins  took  me  along  with  him  to  investigate  this  train 
holdup. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  489 

Phil.  Berne,  an  ex-operative  friend  of  mine  was  the 
superintendent  of  the  Seattle  office,  hence  I  was  not  a 
stranger  in  that  city. 

Here  I  put  in  a  couple  of  weeks  and  experienced  a 
touch  of  high  life  in  the  lower  stratum  of  society,  my 
work  being  mostly  among  the  dance-hall  "girls"  in  the 
six  concert  halls  there. 

After  running  down  several  clues  and  getting  evi 
dence  against  suspects,  I  returned  to  Portland  to  take  up 
the  operation  which  had  brought  me  to  the  far  west. 

Capt.  Bevins,  who  had  the  supervision  of  the  Portland, 
Seattle  and  Spokane  offices,  returned  to  Portland  in  time 
to  see  me  off  for  eastern  Oregon  on  my  important  oper 
ation  which  had  been  held  for  me  several  months. 

I  went  to  Shaniko  by  rail.  There  I  boarded  a  stage 
coach  and  traveled  about  seventy-five  miles  over  a  rocky 
road  to  Prineville,  the  county  seat  of  Crook  County, 
Oregon,  in  the  eastern  part  of  the  state. 

In  Prineville,  a  prosperous  town  of  2,000  people,  I  se 
cured  a  nice  room  and  settled  down  for  a  long  stay.  My 
room  was  in  the  house  of  Judge  Bell,  and  he  and  his 
wife  made  my  stay  a  pleasant  one.  They  were  a  fine 
old  couple  who  had  lived  in  Oregon  for  about  fifty  years. 

Prineville  is  the  center  of  the  finest  horse  country  in 
the  United  States,  and  the  rough  lava  hills  are  alive  with 
wild  horses.  There  are  also  many  large  cattle  ranches, 
but  the  cattle  have  to  be  fed  hay  in  winter,  as  the  snow 
gets  pretty  deep  at  times.  The  horses  require  no  feed 
as  they  can  paw  the  snow  from  the  wild  bunch  grass  in 
the  rocky  cliffs. 


490  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

I  adopted  the  name  of  Chas.  Tony  Lloyd  and  palmed 
myself  off  as  a  horse  dealer.  I  opened  a  bank  account 
with  the  First  National  Bank,  and  had  my  first  money 
come  through  my  friend  John  W.  Poe,  President  of  the 
Citizens  National  Bank  of  Roswell,  New  Mexico,  so  as 
to  show  that  I  was  from  that  territory. 

Owing  to  it  being  November,  the  range  horse  business 
was  at  a  standstill,  except  a  few  small  bunches  sold  at 
auction. 

At  one  of  these  auction  sales  shortly  after  my  arrival, 
I  made  myself  solid  as  a  cowboy  by  roping  horses  by 
both  front  feet.  Previous  to  this  there  was  doubt  about 
my  ever  having  been  a  cowboy.  I  had  purchased  five 
head  of  broncos  at  this  sale,  and  they  had  to  be  branded 
in  my  own  "iron,"  which  had  just  been  recorded. 

In  order  to  test  my  cowboy  abilities  it  was  agreed  that 
Charlie  Bedell,  one  of  their  crack  ropers,  a  young  man 
who  stands  six  feet  in  his  socks  and  is  built  from  the 
ground  up,  and  whose  face  stands  "ace  high"  with  the 
girls,  and  I  were  to  get  in  the  corral  and  catch  these  five 
horses  by  the  front  teeth ;  the  one  who  caught  the  great 
est  number  to  be  the  winner. 

Luck  seemed  to  be  on  my  side,  although  I  had  had  very 
little  practice  for  many  years.  I  never  missed  a  throw 
and  caught  four  head,  while  poor  Bedell  only  had  one  to 
his  credit.  He  didn't  object  to  "setting  'em  up"  to  the 
large  crowd,  so  much  as  being  beaten  by  a  "foreigner" ; 
for  the  Oregon  boys  think  they  can  beat  the  world  at 
roping  and  riding. 

For  reckless  riding  over  rocky  hills  the  Oregon  boys 
can't  be  beaten;  but  if  their  mounts  were  not  the  most 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  491 

sure  footed  animals  on  earth,  the  graveyards  there  would 
be  more  plentiful. 

The  winter  was  spent  in  making  friends  with  the  wild 
and  woolly  element,  scattered  over  the  thinly  settled 
mountainous  country  for  a  hundred  miles  east  and  south. 
Trips  were  made  through  this  country,  and  a  few  horses 
bought  or  traded  for,  as  a  "blind." 

Finally  I  received  orders  to  discontinue  the  operation 
and  return  to  Portland.  Therefore  the  dozen  head  of 
horses  then  on  hand  were  sold,  and  I  made  preparations 
to  leave  under  the  pretense  that  I  was  going  to  Alaska. 
My  work  had  been  successful.  I  cannot  disclose  the  na 
ture  of  the  operation  as  the  agency  may  have  other  work 
to  do  on  it. 

As  a  whole  I  found  the  people  of  Crook  county,  Ore 
gon,  good  open-hearted  citizens,  and  among  them  were 
some  pretty  girls.  One  of  these,  a  Miss  Dora  Crane, 
woke  up  little  Cupid  so  that  he  gave  me  a  dig  or  two  in 
the  ribs  with  his  dart.  I  had  to  visit  her  brother  Charlie 
who  owned  a  horse  and  cattle  ranch  up  the  Ochico  River, 
quite  often,  and  Miss  Dora  and  the  cute  little  dimples  in 
her  cheeks  did  the  cooking  for  us. 

On  the  first  day  of  May,  1906,  my  friends  were  bidden 
goodby  and  I  boarded  a  four-horse  stage  coach  for 
Shaniko  at  the  terminus  of  the  Columbia  Southern  Rail 
way. 

In  Portland  I  received  instructions  from  Supt.  B.  A. 
Cuppel,  who  had  recently  taken  the  place  of  Capt.  James 
Bevins,  who  had  resigned  to  try  ranch  life  on  his  farm 
in  the  state  of  Washington,  to  hurry  on  to  Denver,  as 
Mr.  Jas.  McCartney  wanted  to  use  me.  I  then  bought  a 


492  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

ticket  for  Denver,  Colo.,  over  the  Union  Pacific  railway, 
and  at  Echo  we  got  mixed  up  in  a  bad  washout,  with  no 
prospects  of  getting  through  for  a  week. 

I  then  returned  to  Portland  and  went  to  Spokane, 
Wash.,  over  the  Northern  Pacific  railroad.  But  in  Spo 
kane  I  found  there  were  no  trains  running  over  the 
Union  Pacific  line  out  of  there,  owing  to  washouts. 
There  was  nothing  to  do  but  lay  over  all  day  and  take 
the  Northern  Pacific  by  way  of  Butte  City,  Mont. 

In  the  Dickenson  office  here  I  had  a  pleasant  visit  with 
Supt.  J.  G.  Gascom  and  his  assistant,  George  James- 
worth,  who  was  an  operative  with  me  in  the  Chicago  of 
fice  twenty  years  previous.  Also  met  Mr.  George  D. 
Bangs,  the  general  manager  of  the  whole  Dickenson  sys 
tem,  with  headquarters  in  New  York  City;  and  Tom  F. 
Kipple,  general  superintendent  of  the  Portland,  Seattle 
and  Spokane  offices  since  the  resignation  of  Capt.  Bevins, 
Mr.  Bangs  and  Mr.  Kipple  had  just  arrived  from 
Seattle. 

My  plans  were  changed  by  the  receipt  of  a  telegram  to 
meet  Mr.  James  McCartney  who  would  leave  Denver 
next  day,  in  Boise,  Idaho. 

At  10  P.  M.  Mr.  Bangs  and  I  boarded  a  N.  P.  train 
for  Butte,  Mont.  There  we  branched  off  on  the  Union 
Pacific  for  Pocatello,  Idaho,  where  we  separated,  he 
going  east  to  Denver  and  I  west  to  Boise  City,  the  capi 
tal  of  Idaho. 

I  arrived  in  Boise  a  few  hours  after  Mr.  McCartney. 
On  meeting  him  at  the  Idan-ha  Hotel  he  informed  me 
that  contrary  to  his  wishes  the  Dickenson  brothers  had 
insisted  that  he  have  me  and  old  Colts  45  accompany 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  493 

him  on  his  trips  to  Idaho  in  the  future.  For  it  had  been 
learned  through  secret  sources  that  an  attempt  would  be 
made  on  his  life  by  the  Western  Federation  of  Dyna 
miters. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  year  Ex-Governor  Steunenburg 
of  Idaho  had  been  blown  up  and  killed  at  his  home  in 
Caldwell,  Idaho.  A  bomb  had  been  placed  at  his  gate 
by  Harry  Orchard,  one  of  the  inner-circle  of  the  West 
ern  Federation  of  Miners.  Orchard  was  arrested  on  sus 
picion  after  the  murder,  and  Mr.  Jas.  McCartney  was 
sent  for  by  Governor  Frank  R.  Gooding  of  Idaho,  and 
he  secured  a  full  confession  from  Orchard  as  to  how  he 
had  been  paid  by  the  officials  of  the  Western  Federation 
of  Miners  to  murder  enemies  of  their  noble  order.  He 
had  only  helped  to  blow  up  twenty-six  in  all.  He  had 
made  a  big  killing  when  he  blew  up  the  Independence 
railroad  depot  in  the  Cripple  Creek,  Colo.,  district,  kill 
ing  thirteen  so-called  "scabs"  and  maiming  many  others 
for  life. 

Governor  Steunenburg  in  the  Coeur  D'Alene  riots  of 
1899  had  offended  this  Noble  Order  of  Dynamiters  by 
putting  many  of  them  in  the  "bull-pen,"  and  for  doing 
his  sworn  duty,  as  he  saw  it,  he  was  marked  for  a  hor 
rible  death;  this  being  done  to  intimidate  other  officials. 
But  in  this  they  underestimated  the  true,  noble  qualities 
implanted  in  most  men  whom  the  people  elect  to  run  the 
Ship  of  State. 

Governor  F.  R.  Gooding,  despite  the  threats  of  murder 
through  the  mail  and  otherwise,  went  to  work  with  heart 
and  soul  ablaze  with  right  and  justice,  to  run  down  the 
murderers  of  his  predecessor  in  office. 


494  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

At  the  Idan-ha  Hotel  I  found  our  agency  conducting 
a  miniature  branch  office  with  operative  Thiele  and  sten 
ographer  H.  in  charge  and  doing  the  open  work.  The 
secret  operatives  being  kept  in  the  dark. 

In  company  with  Mr.  McCartney  I  visited  the  Idaho 
penitentiary  several  times,  and  saw  the  noted  Harry  Or 
chard  who  had  confessed;  also  Steve  Adams  who  later 
confessed  to  Mr.  McCartney  in  order  to  save  his  own 
neck.  He  too,  says  he  was  employed  by  the  Western 
Federation  of  Miners  to  murder  enemies.  His  confes 
sion  unravels  many  mysteries  wherein  detectives  and 
others  have  been  "put  out  of  the  way." 

The  warden  of  the  penitentiary,  E.  L.  Whitney,  proved 
to  be  an  old-time  cowboy,  he  and  I  having  worked  for 
the  same  Texas  cattleman,  W.  B.  Grimes,  in  1876;  hence 
we  "harked  back"  to  the  good  old  days  of  pure  air, 
poison  liquor,  "snap  and  ball"  pistols  and  long  horn 
steers. 

At  the  penitentiary  I  found  an  old  acquaintance  in  the 
person  of  Rube  Robbins  who  had  been  a  "bad"  man 
chaser  in  Idaho  for  thirty-one  years.  He  had  taken  part 
in  the  Coeur  D'Alene  Miners'  Union  trouble  of  1892, 
under  Governor  Wiley's  administration,  and  it  was  then 
we  first  met. 

In  the  county  jail  in  Boise  my  friend,  George  A.  Petti- 
bone,  the  dynamiter  who  blew  up  the  Frisco  Mill  at 
Gem,  Idaho,  in  1892,  was  now  sleeping  behind  steel  bars. 
With  him  were  President  Moyer  and  Secretary  Hay- 
wood  of  the  Western  Federation  of  Dynamiters.  They 
were  being  held  for  the  murder  of  Governor  Steunen- 
burg. 


A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE  495 

According  to  the  confessions  of  Orchard  and  Adams, 
Pettibone  is  the  wretch  who  placed  the  bomb  and  pocket- 
book  on  a  cut-off  trail  across  a  vacant  lot  in  Denver,  to 
blow  up  Judge  Gabbert  of  the  Colorado  Supreme  Court. 
But  a  poor  stranger  coming  across  the  lot  in  the  opposite 
direction  from  the  Judge,  picked  up  the  pocketbook  and 
the  buried  bomb  did  the  rest,  leaving  only  a  hole  in  the 
ground  and  piec.es  of  flesh  and  bones.  Pettibone  wit 
nessed  the  scene  from  a  distance,  according  to  these  con 
fessions. 

In  the  course  of  a  week  Mr.  McCartney  and  I  went  to 
the  town  of  Caldwell  where  Governor  Steunenburg  was 
blown  up.  We  put  up  at  the  same  hotel  where  Orchard 
made  his  headquarters  previous  to  the  murder. 

While  in  Caldwell  I  saw  the  widow  of  Governor 
Steunenburg  and  his  sons  who  are  bankers  there.  I 
also  saw  the  spot  where  the  bomb  did  its  hellish  work. 

Finally  Mr.  McCartney  and  I  made  a  trip  to  Spokane, 
Wash.  Here  many  of  my  old  Coeur  D'Alene  friends 
were  met,  among  them  being  "Mace"  Campbell  and  John 
A.  Finch,  and  their  secretary,  W.  A.  Corey;  also  Wil 
liam  Finch,  Wm.  T.  Stoll,  the  attorney,  and  the  mer 
chant  prince,  F.  R.  Culbertson;  and  last  but  not  least, 
the  fighting  sheriff  of  Shoshone  County,  Idaho,  Mr.  An 
gus  Sutherland. 

Angus  Sutherland  had  much  to  tell  me  of  the  ups  and 
downs  of  his  county  in  the  Coeur  D'Alene  mining  dis 
trict  after  I  left  in  1892 ;  how  he  had  to  fight  the  dyna 
miters,  and  how  my  friend  Dr.  Simms,  was  shot  through 
the  head  and  killed  as  he  was  coming  out  of  the  theater 
in  Wallace;  also  the  killing  of  Kneebone  and  Whitney 


496  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

and  many  others.  In  fact  his  narrative  was  sprinkled 
with  human  gore  enough  to  float  a  small  steamer. 

From  Spokane  Mr.  McCartney  and  I  returned,  to 
Boise,  thence  a  few  days'  visit  in  Salt  Lake  City,  Utah, 
where  I  met  many  former  friends.  Here  "Tex."  Rick- 
ard  presented  McCartney  with  his  pet  Colts  45  pistol, 
which  he  had  carried  for  years. 

After  over  a  month  of  high  living  at  Idaho's  expense, 
we  returned  to  Denver. 

My  next  out-of-the-city  operation  was  a  trip  to  the 
State  of  Zacatecas,  Old  Mexico,  for  Mr.  Pierce  Aker- 
man  of  Colorado  Springs,  Colo. 

Of  course,  I  had  to  go  by  way  of  Santa  Fe,  New 
Mexico,  to  visit  Eat  'Em  Up  Jake  and  my  other  pets,  in 
cluding  Mr.  J.  W.  Best,  my  foreman,  and  old  man  At- 
wood  who  had  worked  for  me  on  the  ranch  off  and  on 
for  many  years. 

A  six  hundred  mile  ride  from  El  Paso,  Texas,  on  the 
bumpity-bump  old  Mexican  Central  Railway,  after  two 
long  delays  on  account  of  wrecks,  in  which  two  men 
were  killed,  and  I  arrived  in  Gutierrez,  Mexico.  Here  at 
midnight  I  boarded  a  six-mule  stage  coach  for  a  seventy- 
five  mile  ride  over  a  rocky  road  to  Sombrerete,  a  mining 
camp  of  8,000  dark-colored  souls.  We  arrived  at  our 
destination  the  following  evening. 

An  interesting  traveler  on  the  stage  coach  with  me 
was  an  elderly  American  gentleman  by  the  name  of  G. 
He  was  going  to  Sombrerete  to  round  up  a  12-year-old 
boy  whom  he  had  found  out  had  a  nose  just  like  himself. 

Mr.  G.  had  been  absent  several  years  from  Sombrerete 
and  had  become  well-fixed  financially,  near  the  City  of 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  497 

Guadalajara,  Mexico.  He  said  this  boy  must  ue  a  chip 
off  the  old  G.  block,  hence  he  intended  to  give  him  a 
fine  college  education  in  the  United  States.  In  Som- 
brerete,  later,  Mr.  G.  showed  me  this  boy  after  he  had 
been  scrubbed  up  and  put  into  knee-pants,  and  he 
showed  me  the  peculiarity  of  his  own  nose  and  of  the 
boy's.  There  was  no  doubt  in  my  mind  as  to  where 
this  boy  got  his  nose. 

The  lad's  mother  who  had  other  younger  children, 
hated  to  part  with  her  son,  but  the  promise  of  a  college 
education  for  the  boy,  won  the  battle  for  old  man  G. 

Who  knows  but  what  this  is  the  starting  of  another 
nosy  race  of  people,  and  who  can  divine  the  intentions 
of  old  Mother  Nature  in  this  case?  I  tried  to  peep  into 
the  future  about  1,000  years,  and  in  imagination  I  could 
see  a  populous  race  of  men  with  noses  just  like  the  elder 
G.  and  his  son.  And  in  their  family  trees  I  read  how 
'way  back  in  the  dim  and  dusty  past,  one  Mr.  G.  who 
was  of  a  roving  disposition,  left  his  native  land  of  Cali 
fornia  and  settled  in  Sombrerete,  Mexico,  where  he  mar 
ried  a  princess  of  royal  blood  and  begot  sons  and 
daughters. 

Thus,  in  my  mind's  eye,  could  I  see  history  repeating 
itself  "all  same"  when  the  Spanish  soldiers  and  dons 
started  the  foundation  of  the  Mexican  race;  and  the 
hardy  French  trappers  of  the  north  established  the 
French  Canadians;  and  other  Frenchmen  in  the  south 
laid  the  foundation  stones  of  the  Creoles.  Of  course 
they  all  sprang  from  royal  blood,  now  that  old  Father 
Time  has  washed  away  their  sins. 

Mother  Nature  seems  to  have  her  own  peculiar  way 

82 


498  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

in  which  to  improve  the  human  races,  and  in  doing  so, 
she  uses  the  poor  white  man  as  catspaws  to  pull  her 
own  chestnuts  out  of  the  fire.  I  could  even  see  at  the 
end  of  these  thousand  years  where  the  old  lady  had  com 
pletely  straightened  out  the  kinks  in  the  negroes'  hair. 

In  Sombrerete  and  the  surrounding  country  I  spent 
over  a  month. 

In  La  Noria,  a  mining  camp  twenty  miles  north  of 
Sombrerete,  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  B.  Clark  W., 
the  energetic  ex-son-in-law  of  the  once  noted  governor 
of  Colorado,  "Bloody  Bridles"  Waite. 

I  knew  Mr.  W.  in  Aspen,  Colo.,  in  the  early  days,  but 
he  didn't  recognize  me  as  the  Chas.  Leon  he  met  there 
in  the  year  1888.  Mr.  W.  treated  me  to  high  wines, 
and  without  knowing  it,  divulged  secrets  which  I  had 
come  after.  He  supposed  I  was  a  mining  man  looking 
for  investments.  He  himself  is  operating  the  La  Noria 
silver  mine  and  has  working  for  him  several  hundred 
men. 

I  also  worked  on  many  of  Mr.  W.'s  friends  and  asso 
ciates. 

On  this  trip  I  was  using  the  name  of  Chas.  T.  Lloyd. 

In  Sombrerete  I  met  half  a  dozen  pleasant  Americans. 
Among  them  was  young  Arkins,  a  son-in-law  of  the 
wealthy  Arkins  of  New  York  who  founded  the  "Judge" 
which  is  read  all  over  the  world;  also  a  jolly  Irishman 
by  the  name  of  "Christoval"  Mansfield.  He  and  his 
good  wife  forced  me  to  be  their  guest  for  Sunday  din 
ners.  Of  course  this  was  a  treat,  as  the  hotel  food  was 
"on  the  bum,"  same  as  it  is  all  over  Montezumaland. 

My  work  being  finished,   I  appointed  Mr.  Adriano 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  499 

Agualda,  a  wealthy  Mexican  lawyer,  to  look  after  our 
clients'  interests,  which  footed  up  about  $100,000.00. 
He  was  instructed  to  have  the  trap  set  and  ready  to 
spring  at  a  moment's  notice.  This  freed  me,  so  I  board 
ed  the  stage  at  midnight  during  a  howling  rain  and 
wind  storm,  for  the  railroad  station  of  Gueteras.  There 
the  next  evening  I  boarded  a  railroad  train  for  El  Paso, 
Texas;  thence  on  to  Denver,  by  way  of  Eat  'Em  Up 
Jake's  den. 

On  arriving  in  Denver,  Supt.  "Hank"  Geary  went  with 
me  to  Colorado  Springs,  Colo.,  to  close  up  the  operation 
with  the  clients,  Mr.  Pierce  Akerman,  Mr.  Robert  Tolles 
and  Attorney  Wm.  Breen. 

Soon  after  returning  home  I  had  to  accompany  Mr. 
Jas.  McCartney  on  another  trip  to  the  northwest  to  see 
that  dynamiters  didn't  blow  him  off  the  face  of  the 
earth. 

We  stopped  awhile  in  Boise,  Idaho,  and  visited  Harry 
Orchard,  the  self-confessed  murderer  of  Governor 
Steunenburg,  in  the  state  penitentiary. 

During  our  absence  the  other  Western  Federation 
dynamiter,  Steve  Adams,  had  been  transferred  to  the 
county  jail  as  his  wife  and  uncle  had  been  there  and 
persuaded  him  to  go  back  on  his  confession  in  order  to 
help  the  officials  of  the  Western  Federation  of  Miners. 

On  this  trip  in  Boise  I  met  many  of  my  former  friends 
in  the  Coeur  D'  Alenes ;  among  them  being  U.  S.  Judge 
James  H.  Beatty,  Judge  Fremont  Wood,  ex-U.  S.  Mar 
shal  Joe  Pinkham,  T.  A.  Doud,  and  last  but  not  least, 
U.  S.  Senator  W.  B.  Heyburn,  all  of  whom  had  taken 
part  against  the  dynamiters  after  the  first  riots  in  1892. 


500  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Much  of  our  time  was  spent  in  the  office  of  Jas.  H. 
Hawley  &  Son,  laying  plans  to  outwit  the  Western  Fed 
eration  attorneys  so  as  to  get  Steve  Adams  to  Wallace, 
Idaho,  without  taking  him  through  an  outside  state. 

In  order  to  reach  Wallace  in  the  Coeur  D'Alenes  by 
rail,  it  is  necessary  to  travel  several  hundred  miles  either 
through  Oregon  and  Washington  or  Montana,  and  in 
passing  through  these  states  we  felt  confident  that  Clar 
ence  Darrow,  the  leading  attorney  for  the  Western  Fed 
eration,  would  get  out  habeas  corpus  papers  to  delay 
matters. 

Finally  sheriff  Angus  Sutherland  arrived  from  Sho- 
shone  County  in  the  Coeur  D'Alenes,  with  a  warrant 
for  Steve  Adams  on  a  murder  charge.  After  the  court 
had  turned  Adams  over  to  the  sheriff,  the  Western  Fed 
eration  lawyers  and  their  helpers  had  guards  out  all 
night  so  that  Adams  couldn't  be  taken  out  of  town  with 
out  their  knowing  it.  But  here  we  played  a  "dirty  Irish 
trick"  and  got  him  headed  north  in  a  covered  rig.  He 
was  taken  most  of  the  way  overland  to  avoid  entering 
other  states.  J.  C.  Mills,  Jr.,  Deputy  Warden,  and  Geo. 
C.  Huebner,  chief  clerk  of  the  pen,  helped  to  smuggle 
Adams  out  into  the  cold  night  air. 

Warden  Whitney  of  the  penitentiary,  and  state  de 
tective  Gene  Johnson  accompanied  the  sheriff  and  his 
prisoner  across  the  rough  mountains,  hundreds  of  miles 
north  into  the  Panhandle  of  Idaho. 

When  Attorney  Darrow  and  his  associates  found  that 
their  bird  had  flown,  they  gave  vent  to  a  string  of  sul 
phuric  oaths  which  would  have  scorched  the  lips  of 
some  people,  so  I  was  told.  But  they  couldn't  find  out 
which  way  their  vulture  had  "flew'd." 


WALLAI 
The  X  marks  the  spot  where  the  ^ 


J:DAHO. 

S>r  stood  when  the  soldiers  arrived. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  501 

A  few  days  later  Mr.  McCartney  and  I  boarded  a  train 
for  Wallace,  Idaho. 

The  Western  Federation  attorneys  were  in  Wallace 
when  we  arrived,  but  their  client,  Steve  Adams  with  his 
escorts,  didn't  arrive  until  a  few  days  later. 

Al.  C.  Watson  and  Chas  H  Burkhart,  two  of  sheriff 
Nesbit's  deputies  from  Denver,  Colo.,  were  also  in  Wal 
lace  to  take  charge  of  Steve  Adams  for  murders  com 
mitted  in  Colorado,  in  ease  the  court  here  should  liberate 
him. 

Wallace  seemed  like  home  to  me  after  my  long  ab 
sence  of  about  fourteen  years.  More  especially  after 
viewing  the  high  timbered  mountain  south  of  town 
where  Frank  Stark  and  I  made  our  home  until  the  sol 
diers  arrived. 

The  town  had  built  up  and  changed  wonderfully. 
Only  a  few  old  landmarks  like  the  Carter  Hotel  re 
mained. 

Also  the  faces  of  long  ago  had'  changed.  Still,  there 
were  a  few  of  my  old  friends  and  enemies  left.  Among 
the  friends  were :  Judge  W.  W.  Woods,  Judge  Mahew, 
Mr.  E.  H.  Moffit,  a  leading  merchant,  Mr.  Al.  Dunn, 
postmaster,  Mr.  Jack  Dunn  of  the  Weekly  Press  and 
Robt.  Dunn  of  the  U.  S.  Land  office;  also  Chas.  E. 
Bender  and  Chas.  White,  leading  merchants;  M.  J. 
Flohr,  cashier  of  the  First  National  Bank,  Dr.  Hugh 
France,  Joseph  Turner,  lumberman  and  contractor,  mer 
chant  J.  W.  Tabor  and  my  good  natured  friend,  Jerry 
M.  Savage,  who  formerly  owned  the  Gem  Hotel,  where  I 
crawled  through  the  window  to  escape  dynamiters;  and 
last  but  not  least,  J.  G.  Boyd,  the  trusted  general  agent 


502  A  COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

of  the  N.  P.  Railroad  in  Wallace.  It  was  he  who  turned 
the  switch  and  gave  the  train  load  of  Joe  Warren 
"scabs"  a  clear  track  to  Burk,  while  sheriff  Cunningham 
and  several  hundred  union  miners,  myself  included,  were 
eagerly  waiting  to  capture  the  poor  "scabs"  and  tear 
them  to  pieces  if  they  refused  to  return  from  whence 
they  had  come. 

Many  of  the  old  Miners'  Union  gang  came  from  Burk 
and  Mullen  to  see  the  dastardly  Dickenson  detectives, 
Jas.  McCartney  and  Yours  Truly.  I  recognized  many 
of  them  and  a  few  looked  daggers  at  me.  It  was  voiced 
around  that  they  intended  making  a  raid  some  night  on 
Mr.  McCartney  and  me.  From  that  time  on  I  kept  a 
Winchester  rifle  and  a  supply  of  ammunition  in  my 
room,  which  adjoined  Mr.  McCartney's. 

During  the  nights,  up  to  bedtime,  two  learned  anar 
chists  who  called  themselves  socialists,  from  Chicago, 
made  speeches  to  large  crowds  on  the  streets.  In  these 
talks  they  would  abuse  the  officers  of  the  law  and  de 
tectives  in  general.  They  would  dare  Mr.  McCartney 
to  come  out  and  dispute  their  assertions.  Often  I  would 
slip  into  the  crowd  and  on  the  sly  hear  their  harangue. 
But  with  the  law-abiding  people  now  in  control  of  Sho- 
shone  County  and  with  such  brave  officers  as  sheriff 
Angus  Sutherland  and  his  deputies:  Thomas  McCabe, 
Harry  Williams,  C.  C.  Hicks,  William  Baily  and  Phil 
Chandler,  the  latter  being  one  of  the  "scabs"  blown  up 
with  the  Independence  depot  in  Cripple  Creek,  Colo.,  at 
the  helm,  we  felt  reasonably  safe. 

After  a  two  weeks'  stay  in  Wallace  our  "bad"  man 
Steve  Adams  was  bound  over  by  the  judge,  J.  H. 
Boomer,  to  the  District  Court,  without  bail.  Then  there 


503 

was  much  gnashing  of  teeth  by  attorney  Darrow  and 
his  anarchist  friends.  I  came  very  near  writing  it  sociaU 
ist  friends,  as  that  dynamiting  "bunch"  claim  to  be  so 
cialists,  which  ought  to  give  a  true,  pure-hearted  socialist 
the  jim-jams. 

According  to  my  views  there  are  many  good  points  in 
socialism,  which,  if  adopted,  would  make  the  world  bet 
ter;  and  for  the  men  and  women  who  strive  for  the 
betterment  of  mankind,  I  have  the  highest  regard. 

The  charge  against  Steve  Adams  was  murder.  He, 
Jack  Simkins,  now  a  hunted  outlaw,  and  some  pals  were 
accused  of  murdering  two  men  in  cold  blood  at  the  head 
of  the  St.  Joe  river  in  the  Coeur  D'Alenes. 

The  mother  and  stepfather  of  one  of  these  murdered 
men  gave  damaging  testimony  against  Adams,  and  so 
did  Mr.  Archie  Phillips,  whom  the  same  Western  Feder 
ation  gang  tried  to  murder. 

Mr.  McCartney  and  I  took  the  Coeur  d'Alene  lake 
route  by  rail  and  steamer  for  Spokane,  Wash.  In  that 
city  we  laid  over  a  couple  of  days  and  visited  with  our 
friends. 

A  couple  of  days'  stop  in  Boise,  Idaho,  and  Mr.  Mc 
Cartney  and  I  returned  to  Denver,  Colo. 

I  hadn't  more  than  reached  home  when  I  was  de 
tailed  to  help  our  Kansas  City,  Mo.,  office  spring  a  trap 
on  some  train  holdups.  The  holdup  was  due  to  take 
place  at  a  small  station  called  Sweetwater  on  the  C.  B.  & 
Q.  railroad  in  Nebraska  on  a  certain  night.  The  railroad 
officials  had  got  a  tip  that  their  No.  41  western  passen 
ger  train  was  to  be  robbed.  Hence  they  wished  to  kill  or 
capture  the  gang  while  in  the  act. 

Of  course  I  took  along  my  trusty  old  30 — 40  caliber, 


504  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

smokeless  powder,  Winchester  rifle.  I  had  been  told  that 
the  railroad  company  would  furnish  us  sawed-off  shot 
guns  for  the  fight ;  but  a  Winchester  rifle,  and  a  Colts  45 
pistol  to  "nigger"  with,  are  good  enough  for  Yours 
Truly. 

Of  course  I  couldn't  leave  Kansas  City  without  seeing 
my  old  Caldwell,  Kansas,  friend,  Frank  Jones,  the  pro 
prietor  of  the  Jones  liquor  emporium,  even  though  it 
did  mean  a  headache  next  day. 

It  was  3  :oo  o'clock  A.  M.  when  I  bade  Mr.  Jones  and 
his  friends  goodby,  after  drinking  them  the  following 
toast : 

Here's  to  wine  enough  to  sharpen  wit; 

Wit  enough  to  give  zest  to  wine; 
And  wisdom  enough  to  quit  at  the  right  time. 

Then  I  "hiked"  to  the  depot  and,  hie,  tumbled  into  my 
Pullman  berth. 

Early  in  the  day  assistant  superintendent  W.  H. 
Hart,  and  Jno.  A.  Hermanson  had  supplied  me  with 
ammunition  and  instructed  me  to  leave  in  the  morning 
for  Omaha,  Nebraska;  hence  taking  my  half-grown 
"jag"  into  the  Pullman  sleeper  so  as  to  avoid  getting  up 
to  catch  the  train. 

In  Omaha,  Nebraska,  Mr.  W.  B.  Coughman,  the  super 
intendent  in  charge  of  our  office  there,  introduced  me  to 
the  operative  who  was_  to  be  my  partner  in  guarding 
train  41  from  holdups.  He  happened  to  be  a  young  man 
after  my  own  heart,  whom  I  felt  sure  would  stick  to  the 
bitter  end  in  case  of  a  show-down. 

This  Mr.  V.  L.  S.  had  been  an  officer  under  Ben.  Wil 
liams,  special  agent  of  the  A.  T.  &  S.  F.  Ry.,  also  town 
marshal  of  coal  camps  in  northern  New  Mexico,  and 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  505 

during  these  periods  he  had  to  use  his  gun  more  than 
once. 

V.  L.  S.  and  I  were  sent  to  Lincoln,  the  capital  of 
Nebraska,  there  to  make  our  headquarters  for  the  next 
few  weeks. 

Four  other  operatives  were  also  sent  to  Lincoln  to 
guard  other  trains  running  out  of  that  city  for  the  west ; 
this  being  done  as  a  precaution  for  fear  the  holdups 
might  change  their  plans.  But  these  operatives  did  their 
work  in  the  western  part  of  the  state,  as  their  trains  left 
Lincoln  in  the  day  time. 

For  the  first  couple  of  weeks  V.  L.  S.  and  I  rode  in  the 
smoking  car  and  kept  our  eyes  peeled  for  holdup  men. 
Our  train  No.  41  left  Lincoln  at  i  :2O  A.  M.  and  we  would 
remain  aboard  'till  after  daylight,  then  get  off  at  Broken 
Bow,  west  of  the  small  station  of  Sweetwater,  where  the 
holdup  was  billed  to  come  off.  Then  we  would  catch 
the  eastbound  passenger  about  9:00  A.  M.  and  return  to 
Lincoln,  so  as  to  be  ready  to  take  41  out  again  the  fol 
lowing  night.  This  allowed  us  from  four  to  six  hours 
sleep  in  our  room  at  Lincoln,  when  the  return  train  was 
on  time,  which  was  seldom.  Often  we  would  not  get  to 
bed  at  all. 

On  the  night  that  "41"  was  to  be  held  up,  an  empty 
express  car  was  coupled  onto  the  train  next  to  the  en 
gine,  and  in  this,  operative  V.  L.  S.  and  I  "sneaked,"  so 
no  one  outside  of  the  conductor  knew  of  our  presence. 
When  inside  of  this  car  we  bolted  the  two  side  doors  and 
awaited  results.  The  car  was  kept  dark  inside. 

That  night  Supt.  Williston  of  the  Kansas  City  office 
rode  out  of  Lincoln  to  Broken  Bow  in  the  chair  car,  so 
as  to  be  on  the  ground  if  the  holdup  occurred. 


506  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

About  an  hour  and  a  half  before  daylight  No.  41 
stopped  to  let  off  a  passenger  in  Sweetwater  station.  Op 
erative  V.  L.  S.  was  guarding  the  north  door,  while  I 
watched  the  south  door.  We  each  had  our  door  open 
about  six  inches  so  as  to  see  outside. 

Just  as  our  train  pulled  out^  operative  V.  L.  S.  called 
me  over  to  his  side  to  point  out  three  men  hiding  in 
some  tall  weeds  about  fifty  yards  from  the  track.  We 
saw  one  of  them  stand  up  and  then  sit  down  again,  and 
as  soon  as 'the  train  had  got  past  them  they  all  struck 
out  towards  the  south.  They  were  evidently  holdup 
men  who  had  smelled  a  "mice"  on  seeing  this  extra  ex 
press  car  attached  to  the  train,  which  was  something 
unusual. 

Operative  V.  L.  S.  and  I  had  discussed  the  putting  on 
of  this  extra  express  car  and  had  decided  it  to  be  a 
mistake,  as  train  robbers  are  not  fools. 

The  railroad  agent  in  Alliance  reported  selling  a  ticket 
to  Sweetwater  station  the  day  before  the  robbery  was 
to  take  place,  and  two  on  the  day  of  the  proposed  hold 
up.  This  being  something  out  of  the  ordinary,  it  may  ac 
count  for  the  three  men  seen  in  the  weeds. 

We  rode  in  the  express  car  the  next  night  also,  and 
were  then  ordered  to  discontinue  the  operation.  Of 
course  we  were  glad  of  it,  as  we  had  been  losing  sleep 
and  rest  for  more  than  two  weeks,  and  a  cold  blizzard 
had  been  raging  most  of  the  time. 

Thus  did  another  of  my  bloodless  battles  fade  into  thin 
air. 

I  then  returned  to  Denver  after  bidding  my  partner 
goodby  in  Lincoln,  he  returning  to  Kansas  City. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  507 

Secret  information  gained  pointed  to  my  friend  Bob 
McGinnis,  the  train  robber  lately  pardoned  from  the 
Santa  Fe,  N.  M.,  penitentiary,  as  being  connected  with 
this  proposed  train  holdup;  also  a  railroad  brakeman 
who  had  served  a  two  or  three  years'  sentence  in  the 
New  Mexico  "pen",  and  who  had  been  a  cell-mate  of 
the  notorious  Bob  McGinnis,  alias  Elza  Lay. 

On  arriving  in  Denver  I  was  detailed  on  an  operation 
down  in  Old  Mexico  to  run  down  a  "bad"  man  who  was 
supposed  to  be  traveling  with  Col.  W.  C.  White,  the 
Cananea  copper  king,  in  his  new  private  car,  the  Verde. 

I  arrived  in  El  Paso,  Texas,  just  in  time  to  catch  the 
Verde  as  she  entered  Mexico  at  that  point.  She  had 
just  come  from  Cananea,  Mexico,  through  Arizona. 

I  rode  on  the  same  train  with  the  Verde  into  the 
City  of  Mexico.  There  Col.  White  and  his  dozen  com 
panions  were  wined  and  dined  by  Mr.  Diaz,  the  presi 
dent  of  the  Mexican  Republic,  while  poor  Yours  Truly 
was  wining  and  dining  with  Harry  King,  the  negro  chef 
of  the  Verde. 

On  the  i,2OO-mile  journey  to  the  Mexican  capital  from 
El  Paso,  Texas,  I  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  this 
yellow  New  York  "nigger"  so  as  to  get  the  names  of 
Col.  White's  guests,  and  other  secrets. 

In  taking  in  the  swell  hurrah  resorts  of  the  city  I  had 
to  pass  Harry  King  off  as  a  rich  Cuban.  At  one  place 
the  landlady  got  me  off  in  one  corner  to  ask  on  my  word 
of  honor  if  my  chum  was  not  a  cottonfield  "nigger."  I 
assured  the  "lady"  that  the  gentleman  who  tipped  the 
scales  at  240  pounds  was  a  blue-blooded  Cuban,  whose 
ancestors  were  of  royal  descent. 


508  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

A  few  days  in  Mexico  City  and  we  were  off  for  Chi 
huahua,  600  miles  north. 

Before  leaving  the  .city  I  had  the  pleasure  of  examin 
ing  the  inside  of  the  Verde,  a  palace  on  wheels.  King 
showed  me  every  nook  and  corner  in  the  car.  I  also  got 
to  visit  all  the  noted  places  of  the  city  with  the  Greene 
party.  They  rode  in  carriages  while  I  followed  in  a 
common  hack. 

In  the  city  I  found  one  old  friend,  Mr.  J.  W.  Seibert, 
now  superintendent  of  the  Wells  Fargo  Company  there. 
He  was  an  assistant  under  Supt.  Daniel  Turner  when  I 
followed  the  Wells  Fargo  express  robber  to  Mexico 
City  in  1888.  Now  poor  Turner  is  a  patient  in  a  sani 
tarium  in  California,  so  says  Mr.  Seibert. 

From  Chihuahua  the  Verde  went  a  couple  of  hundred 
miles  up  into  the  Sierra  Madre  mountains,  where  Col. 
White  and  his  associates  are  building  a  new  railroad 
west,  to  connect  with  the  Greene  Cananea  railway. 

Up  in  these  mountains  I  found  a  town  named  Detrick, 
after  my  old  friend  one-arm  Sam  Detrick  who  ran  a 
"bull-train,"  freighting  between  Socorro  and  White 
Olaks,  New  Mexico,  in  1880,  '81  and  '82.  Now  he  is  said 
to  be  quite  wealthy.  I  thought  it  best  not  to  make  myself 
known  to  him,  as  he  stands  in  with  the  Green  outfit,  and 
at  that  time  I  was  not  sure  that  our  "bad"  man  was  not 
a  guest  of  Colonel  White's.  One  of  the  men  in  the 
Verde  answered  the  description  of  our  "bad"  man.  I 
had  found  out  this  gentleman's  name  as  he  had  claimed 
to  be  a  wealthy  capitalist  from  Waterbury,  Conn.  I 
was  waiting  until  Supt.  David  C.  Hornybill  of  our  New 
York  office  could  investigate  the  matter  in  Waterbury. 
I  had  wired  in  cypher,  the  full  particulars  to  New  York. 


A    COWBOY  DETECTIVE  509 

On  arriving  in  El  Paso,  Texas,  late  one  night  I  re 
ceived  a  telegram  from  New  York  to  the  effect  that 
the  suspect  was  not  our  "bad"  man.  I  then  bade  the 
Verde  goodbye.  She  returned  that  morning  to  Cananea, 
Mexico. 

Our  New  York  client  had  put  us  on  to  this  false  scent, 
hence  our  failure  was  not  the  fault  of  the  agency.  Pos 
sibly  it  was  a  put  up  job  by  kind  Providence  to  give  me 
a  little  winter  outing  in  the  tropics  after  my  late  tussle 
with  blizzards  in  Nebraska. 

While  in  El  Paso,  Texas,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meet 
ing  my  old  friends,  John  Y.  Hewett  and  Mr.  E.  W. 
Parker  of  White  Oaks,  New  Mexico.  I  had  not  seen 
Mr.  Parker  for  many  years.  He  is  now  in  the  mining 
business  in  El  Paso  with  his  son  Morris  Parker.  I  had 
first  met  Mr.  E.  W.  Parker  in  the  spring  of  1878,  when 
he  and  a  crowd  of  Uncle  Sam's  men  were  putting 
through  the  first  mail  line  ever  run  over  the  staked 
plains  of  Texas. 

The  Parker  crowd  had  camped  near  the  L  X  ranch 
where  there  were  about  thirty  cowboys  getting  ready 
for  the  spring  round-up.  As  Parker  kept  his  business  to 
himself,  we  all  suspected  them  as  being  Texas  rangers  in 
disguise,  searching  for  outlaws;  the  outcome  being  that 
we  only  had  half  enough  cowboys  to  start  the  round-up. 
About  a  dozen  of  our  "boys"  mounted  their  pet  horses 
and  struck  out  for  "tall  timber"  in  New  Mexico  and  Ari 
zona,  where  some  of  them  helped  to  swell  "Curly  Bill's" 
outlaw  gang. 

One  of  these  "boys"  who  left  for  Arizona  was  known 
to  us  as  a  "bad"  Texas  outlaw.  He  was  supposed  to  be 


510  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

dead,  though.  His  wealthy  uncle  had  built  a  fine  monu 
ment  over  his  supposed  grave  down  in  the  settlements; 
this  being  done  to  throw  the  officer  off  the  track.  One 
of  his  former  chums,  Cape  Willingham,  had  told  the 
secret  to  me;  hence  I  was  not  surprised  when  George 
skipped  by  the  light  of  the  stars  while  Mr.  Parker  and 
his  crowd  of  supposed  sleuth-hounds  were  asleep. 

We  heard  of  other  cattle  outfits  being  short  of  round 
up  hands  that  spring,  on  account  of  the  presence  of  this 
star-route  mail-line  gang. 

I  landed  in  Denver  after  an  absence  of  about  three 
weeks. 

A  few  days'  rest  and  I  was  off  with  Manager  Jas. 
McCartney  for  Boise,  Idaho. 

In  Boise  we  visited  Harry  Orchard  in  the  penitentiary 
and  made  other  preparations  for  the  coming  trial  of 
the  Western  Federation  officials. 

The  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States  had  just 
rendered  a  decision  that  these  dynamiters  had  not  been 
kidnapped  by  the  Dickenson  agency  and  the  Idaho  of 
ficials  out  of  Colorado  where  they  were  arrested;  hence 
there  was  nothing  to  prevent  the  case  being  brought 
into  court  now,  to  determine  if  these  high  union  of 
ficials  really  had  a  hand  in  the  murder  of  ex-Governor 
Steunenburg. 

Mr.  McCartney  was  anxious  to  eat  Christmas  dinner 
with  his  wife  and  little  niece  in  Denver,  therefore  we 
hurried  back. 

On  our  return  we  stopped  a  couple  of  days  in  Salt 
Lake  City,  Utah.  We  got  back  to  Denver  on  Christmas 
eve.  This  ended  my  third  trip  into  the  northwest  as  Mr. 
McCartney's  bodyguard. 


ORCHARD  AND  GUARDS. 


Reading  from  left  to  right: 

1.  Pen  Guard  Ackley. 

2.  Harry  Orchard. 

3.  R.  Barthell. 


4.  Chas  A.  Siringo. 

5.  Bob  Meldrum. 

6.  Warden    Whitney. 


CHAPTER  XXn. 

IN  IDAHO  WITH  DYNAMITERS — A   COWBOY  OPERATION 
IN  THE  BAD  LANDS  OF  SOUTH  DAKOTA — I  RESIGN 

FROM  THE  DlCKENSON  AGENCY. 

During  the  first  half  of  1907  I  led  an  easy  life,  with 
nothing  to  do  but  keep  old  Colts  45  well  oiled  for  dyna 
miters  and  assassins. 

I  had  to  accompany  that  greatest  of  all  detectives,  James 
McCartney,  who  broke  up  the  Molly  McGuire  gang — 
hanging  twenty-three  and  sending  thirty-two  to  the  peni 
tentiary — wherever  he  went.  But  during  these  noted 
trials  McCartney  would  remain  at  his  hotel,  or  visit  with 
friends,  while  I  helped  guard  Harry  Orchard,  the  star 
witness  for  the  prosecution.  His  life  was  too  valuable 
to  take  chances  on  his  assassination. 

Orchard  made  a  splendid  witness  at  the  different  trials 
in  Idaho.  Thus  did  he  make  partial  amends  to  society 
for  the  twenty-six  men  he  helped  to  murder. 

In  summing  up  the  Orchard  evidence  the  judge  on 
the  bench,  Fremont  Wood,  said  he  certainly  told  the 
truth,  as  no  man  could  tell  the  same  story  at  different 
times  and  not  get  mixed  up  in  his  statements;  more  so, 
under  the  cross-questioning  of  such  able  lawyers  as  Dar- 
row  and  Richardson.  Furthermore  most  of  Orchard's 
testimony  was  corroborated  by  telegrams,  letters  and  re 
liable  witnesses. 

At  the  wind-up  Albert  E.  Horsley,  alias  Harry  Or- 

511 


512  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

chard,  was  convicted  for  the  murder  of  ex-Governor 
Steunenburg  and  sentenced  to  death.  But  shortly  after, 
the  death  sentence  was  changed  to  life  imprisonment, 
which  was  certainly  just.  In  fact  he  should  be  put  under 
parole  and  given  his  liberty.  I  would  willingly  stake  my 
life  that  he  has  had  a  change  of  heart  since  that  guiding 
angel,  Geo.  A.  Pettibone,  of  the  Western  Federation  of 
Miners,  drilled  him  in  the  art  of  manufacturing  bombs 
and  exploding  them.  For  according  to  the  evidence  it 
was  this  drill-master  and  his  pupil  who  set  the  bomb  for 
Judge  Gabbert,  of  Denver,  and  blew  the  poor  stranger, 
who  picked  up  the  pocketbook,  into  fragments.  The 
pupil  placed  the  bomb  and  pocketbook  while  the  in 
structor  looked  on  from  a  distance  of  two  city  blocks. 

The  State  of  Idaho,  through  her  leading  attorneys, 
Senator  W.  E.  Borah  and  James  H.  Hawley,  secured 
two  "gun-men"  to  help  guard  Orchard  when  taken 
from  behind  the  penitentiary  walls.  Their  names  were 
Bob  Meldrum  and  R.  Barthel;  Meldrum  being  the  man- 
killing  town  marshal  of  Dixon,  Wyoming,  at  the  time 
Jim  F.  of  "Wild  Bunch"  fame,  and  I  took  in  that  burg. 

When  Mr.  McCartney  introduced  us  in  Boise  under 
my  own  name  it  was  comical  to  see  Meldrum's  surprise. 
He  remarked  that  he  had  met  me  as  Harry  Blevins,  in 
Dixon,  Wyoming. 

Since  our  meeting  in  Boise,  Meldrum  has  added  to  his 
record  as  a  killer,  by  shooting  a  man  in  Telluride,  Colo. 

During  the  summer,  in  Boise,  Idaho,  I  had  a  few 
years  added  to  my  life  through  the  meeting  of  that  great 
actress — Miss  Ethel  Barrymore. 

This  beautiful  young  actress  was  dying  to  see  Harry 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  513 

Orchard  before  returning  East.  But  no  one  except  court 
officials  and  his  guards  were  allowed  to  see  him,  by  strict 
orders  from  Governor  Gooding. 

Miss  Barrymore  had  already  pled  with  the  governor, 
so  I  was  told,  but  his  heart  was  like  a  chunk  of  chilled 
steel.  Then  some  one  suggested  that  I  might  help  her 
out.  Just  one  smile  and  a  "good-fellow"  hand  shake, 
and  she  had  me  kneeling  at  her  feet,  figuratively  speak 
ing.  I  informed  her  that  my  hands  were  tied  without 
the  consent  of  Mr.  McCartney  but  that  if  she  would  act 
her  part  according  to  my  instructions  we  could  get  his 
consent.  She  agreed. 

I  had  learned  that  all  men,  no  matter  how  old,  have  a 
weak  spring  in  their  make-up  which  can  be  snapped 
asunder  by  fair  women,  if  they  only  go  at  it  right.  Of 
course  I  hated  to  put  up  a  "job"  on  Mr.  McCartney,  but 
who  wouldn't  to  make  a  pretty  girl  happy. 

Mr.  Gifford  Pinchot,  Chief  of  the  United  States  Forest 
Service,  was  also  anxious  to  see  Orchard,  therefore  he 
accompanied  Miss  Barrymore  and  me  to  Mr.  McCart 
ney's  private  reception  room.  Mr.  S.  S.  McClure,  of 
the  McClure  Magazine,  and  the  wife  of  the  principal 
owner  of  the  Idaho  Statesman,  Mrs.  Calvin  Cobb,  also 
went  along. 

On  introducing  Miss  Barrymore  I  started  the  ball  to 
rolling  by  telling  Mr.  McCartney  that  I  had  assured  the 
lady  that  he  would  not  deny  her  request 

The  play  started  when  the  young  actress  moved  her 
chair  close  up  to  the  gentleman,  so  that  she  could  look 
him  in  the  face. 

When  the  one-act  drama  was  over  we  all  started  in  a 

33 


514  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

carriage  for  the  penitentiary.  Mr.  McCartney  had  given 
me  orders  to  let  the  lady  see  Orchard,  but  under  no  con 
dition  to  let  her  speak  to  him  That  was  sufficient,  as 
all  I  wanted  was  an  entering  wedge. 

On  reaching  the  penitentiary  I  had  warden  Whitney 
bring  Orchard  from  his  steel  cell  to  the  warden's  pri 
vate  office.  Then  I  turned  the  natural  born  actress  loose 
in  the  room  with  this  star  dynamiter,  and  she  talked 
with  him  to  her  heart's  content. 

And  I  was  repaid  for  all  my  trouble  by  having  Miss 
Barrymore  'phone  me  after  midnight  to  be  at  her  train 
and  say  goodby.  This  I  did,  and  her  happy  smile  and 
warm  hand-shake  lingers  with  me  to  this  day — nearly 
two  years  later. 

During  the  Steve  Adams  trial  in  Wallace,  Idaho, 
which  terminated  in  a  hung  jury — that  being  no  surprise, 
considering  the  large  slush  fund  put  up  by  the  Western 
Federation  of  Miners  to  save  his  neck — I  had  the  pleas 
ure  of  visiting  Gem  where  I  made  my  getaway  by  sawing 
through  the  floor.  Mr.  McCartney's  private  secretary, 
Robt.  Shollenbeger,  went  with  me  on  horseback. 

We  saw  bullet  holes  through  old  walls  as  reminders 
of  those  exciting  times  in  1892.  I  recognized  many  old 
landmarks — but  only  one  live  one  in  the  person  of  Dan 
Harrington  and  his  flowing  grey  beard. 

On  leaving  Wallace  and  the  Coeur  D'Alene  country 
we  stopped  for  a  few  days  in  Spokane,  Wash.  We  were 
accompanied  by  that  whole-soul  honest  man,  ex-sheriff 
Harvey  K.  Brown  of  Baker  City,  Oregon.  But  the  poor 
fellow  soon  after  met  the  same  fate  as  ex-Governor 
Steunenburg,  and  in  the  same  manner,  a  bomb  being 


JAS.  MCCARTNEY  AND  THE  AUTHOR. 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  515 

placed  at  his  residence  gate.  Here  is  Brown's  dying 
statement,  as  copied  from  the  Denver  Post  of  October  2, 
1907: 

"BAKER  CITY,  OREGON,  Oct.  2. 

Harvey  K.  Brown,  ex-sheriff  of  Baker  county,  died  yesterday 
afternoon  as  the  result  of  the  horrible  wounds  he  received  from 
the  explosion  of  a  bomb  at  his  front  gate  as  he  entered  his  home 
Monday  night.  Shortly  before  noon  he  recovered  consciousness 
and  his  ante-mortem  statement  was  taken  by  the  district  attorney. 
It  follows : 

"  'I  was  on  my  way  home  from  up  town  when  I  met  a  man  in  front 
of  a  residence  a  block  from  my  house,  and  spoke.  The  man  made 
no  reply.  This  man  was  about  five  feet  ten  inches  tall,  his 
weight  about  165  pounds.  He  wore  a  brown  suit  and  a  cellu 
loid  collar  and  was  clean  shaven.  I  have  been  conscious  of 
having  been  followed  for  the  past  three  weeks,  and  have  no  doubt 
that  those  who  attempted  my  life  are  persons  connected  with  the 
Western  Federation  of  Miners,  and  that  I  was  marked  for  death 
on  account  of  the  Steunenburg  and  Steve  Adams  cases.' " 

This  illustrates  the  danger  of  being  an  important  wit 
ness  against  that  blood-thirsty  dynamiting  bunch,  who 
some  well-meaning  people  believe  are  angels. 

Another  prince  of  a  good  fellow  blown  up  with  dyna 
mite,  but  not  killed,  soon  after  giving  his  testimony 
against  this  "noble  order"  was  Mr.  Bulkley  Wells,  man 
ager  and  part  owner  of  a  rich  mine  in  Telluride,  Colo., 
the  former  manager  of  this  mine,  Mr.  Arthur  Collins, 
being  shot  and  killed  through  a  window  by  that  villain, 
Steve  Adams,  according  to  his  own,  and  Orchard's, 
sworn  confession. 

We  have  been  expecting  to  hear  of  the  assassination  of 
Governor  Frank  Goodin,  as  his  life  has  been  threatened 
more  than  any  one  else,  unless  it  is  ex-Governor  Jas.  H. 
Peabody  of  Colorado,  who  has  escaped  two  attempts  at 
assassination. 

All  law-loving  citizens    should    adore    the    names  of 


516  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

these  two  governors  who  did  their  duty  in  the  face  of 
hourly  danger.  This  dynamiting  brigade  had,  no  doubt, 
figured  that  the  blowing  up  of  ex-Governor  Steunen- 
burg  would  put  the  fear  of  death  in  the  hearts  of  other 
officials  who  believed  in  law  and  order.  But  they  didn't 
reckon  on  that  noble  trait  implanted  in  the  breasts  of 
some  men  which  defies  death,  and  even  torture,  when  it 
comes  to  sacrificing  principle  and  justice. 

When  the  trial  of  Haywood,  secretary  and  treasurer 
of  the  Western  Federation  was  ended,  and  Mr.  McCart- 
land  and  I  were  back  in  Denver,  Colorado,  I  resigned 
from  the  Dickenson  Agency  to  try  the  "Simple  Life"  on 
my  Sunny  Slope  ranch  at  Santa  Fe,  New  Mexico. 

I  had  not  been  out  of  the  agency  long  when  I  was  re 
quested,  by  Mr.  James  McCartney,  to  undertake  a  cow 
boy  operation  up  in  the  Bad  Lands  of  South  Dakota. 
Members  of  the  South  Dakota  Stock  Growers'  Associa 
tion,  Mr.  James  Craig  being  president,  and  Mr.  Frank 
Stewart  secretary,  were  short  thousands  of  steers  and 
could  not  figure  out  what  had  become  of  them.  Hence 
I  was  sent  up  there  to  unravel  the  mystery. 

I  spent  the  fall  and  winter  in  South  Dakota  working 
on  cattlemen,  cowboys  and  Indians.  Much  of  my  work 
being  on  the  Pine  Ridge  and  Rosebud  Indian  Reserva 
tions. 

My  reports  showed  where  thousands  of  steers  had 
been  stolen  and  butchered,  the  year  previous  to  my  ar 
rival,  to  furnish  beef  for  the  grading  crews  of  the  two 
new  railroads,  the  Milwaukee  and  St.  Paul,  and  the 
Northwestern,  building  west  through  that  country. 

Some  of  my  cowboy  chums,  on  whom  I  worked,  had 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  517 

become  well  fixed  financially  by  butchering  these  cattle. 
Most  of  the  stealing  was  done  through  half-breed  In 
dians  who  lived  on  the  reservations. 

Much  of  my  time  was  spent  in  Rapid  City,  Interior 
Kadoka,  Wasta  and  the  White  Owl  country.  My  name 
was  Chas.  Tony  Lloyd.  I  experienced  some  hardships 
from  the  terrible  blizzards  which  rage  in  that  country 
during  the  winters.  On  closing  the  operation  in  the 
White  Owl  Country  I  had  to  ride  in  a  cold  blizzard  for 
over  one  hundred  miles,  with  snow  belly-deep  to  a  horse, 
in  places,  to  the  railroad  town  of  Wasta. 

I  was  indeed  glad  to  get  back  and  bask  in  the  warm 
sunshine  of  New  Mexico,  and  to  be  with  my  pets, 
Eat  'Em  Up  Jake  and  Rowdy,  my  favorite  saddle  stal 
lion,  the  off-spring  of  Lulu;  also  Miss  Pussy-cat,  who 
has  a  history  in  connection  with  the  "Wild  Bunch ;"  she 
having  been  given  to  me  when  a  wee  kitten  up  in  Ft. 
Steel,  Wyoming,  by  cowboy  Charlie  Ivey,  who  little 
dreamed  that  this  supposed  Harry  Blevins  had  once  been 
a  cowboy  companion  of  his,  in  the  early-day  cattle  busi 
ness  of  Texas. 

Mr.  Geo.  S.  Tweedy,  who  was  in  charge  of  my  ranch, 
had  cared  for  my  pets  during  my  absence. 

Now,  dear  reader,  in  closing  my  twenty-two  years  of 
experience  in  studying  human  nature,  let  me  say  that 
I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  there  is  more  good 
than  bad  in  mankind.  I  believe  most  of  the  viciousness 
in  man  could  be  smothered  by  doing  away  with  liquor 
and  greed  for  the  almighty  dollar.  For  through  these 
great  evils  I  have  seen  bitter  tears  enough  wrung  from 
the  eyes  of  men,  women  and  children  to  float  a  washtub. 


518  A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE 

Saloon  men  should  not  be  condemned  for  the  liquor 
evil,  for  there  are  good,  pure-hearted  men  among  them. 
They  are  conducting  a  lawful  business  so  long  as  they 
pay  a  license  to  the  government.  The  people  as  a  whole 
are  to  blame  for  not  putting  a  stop  to  it  by  law;  and  at 
the  same  time  establish  poor  men's  club  rooms  to  take 
the  place  of  saloons,  which  are  a  blessing  to  a  cold  an<l 
hungry  stranger  when  he  lands  in  a  town  broke.  Good 
men  sometimes  run  short  of  cash  and  cannot  pay  for 
lodging  in  a  warm  hotel.  Then  is  when  the  saloon  is  a 
godsend. 

Every  greedy  old  "Money-bag"  in  the  land  should  be 
sat  down  on  hard.  I  would  be  in  favor  of  screwing  his 
hands  to  a  long-handle  shovel,  or  a  heavy  wheel-barrow, 
for  months  at  a  time,  to  let  him  know  how  it  feels  to 
work  ten  hours  a  day  to  keep  body  and  soul  together, 
while  such  as  he  do  nothing  but  gloat  over  gold,  and 
wring  the  life-blood  from  humanity. 

It  is  a  great  pity  that  old  Father  Time  and  Mother 
Nature  cannot  get  married  and  start  a  new  breed  of 
cattle,  with  cows  giving  a  large  flow  of  the  milk  of 
human  kindness.  For  then  we  would  have  something  to 
feed  to  greedy  capitalists  and  blood-thirsty  labor  union 
agitators. 

Had  I  the  power  our  glorious  American  flag  would  be 
constantly  waving  over  every  school  house  in  this  fair 
land.  On  one  side  would  be  printed  in  large  letters  of 
gold: 

Down  with  liquor,  cruelty  and  greed ;  up  with  manhood,  kind 
ness  and  virtue. 

And  on  the  other  side: 


A   COWBOY  DETECTIVE  519 

Preservation  of  noble  thoughts  and  deeds,  for  the  upbuilding 
of  ideal  man. 

In  bidding  you  adieu  I  ask  if  the  world  has  been  bene 
fited  by  my  having  lived  in  it?  I  answer,  yes.  For  have 
[  not  planted  trees  and  grass  on  a  sun-kissed  desert  at  the 
end  of  the  old  Santa  Fe  Trail — at  the  very  spot  where 
once  grazed  the  tired  oxen  and  mules  after  their  journey 
across  the  plains  ? 

The  bible  says  he  who  makes  two  blades  of  grass  to 
grow  where  only  one  grew  before  has  benefited  man 
kind.  And  that  hits  Yours  Truly. 


THE  END. 


S6I  . 
1112. 


